Game of Thrones
by Enige-iets
Summary: NONXOVER. AU. The bloodlines of the original kings has become muddied by time and common blood, now we can only speculate as to whom the Divine Right of Kings really belongs. Perhaps, the most unlikely person imaginable? M 4 incest non-graphic , rape semi-graphic and fellony GRAPHIC! Pairings... CarawayxEdea ?x? ?x? SeiferxQuistis ?x? Wait. And. See. :D
1. Prologue

_**A/N:**_ Righty ho - I was informed by the Fictionist that my chapters were too long and extremely off-putting, so I'm going to try and keep these ones under the 2000word mark each and I hope that solves the problem. But anyway, down to business! A new story, I know, gosh silly me. I haven't even finished my other one yet! But I'm hoping that by putting more of my work out there more people will read it and become interested in others of my work.  
PLEASE DON'T BE MISLEAD! I am NOT abandonning my other story at all, I am simply trying to generate more interest for it with teh help of other enterprises.

Right, now then, I feel I have some explaining to do. This - although called Game of Thrones - is not affiliated with the Game of Thrones world and for those hard-nosers out there, you may take this as my disclaimer. Some of the character posts may be inspired by Game of Thrones, but not based on them. (I apologise for the rambling, I'm ill today so feel the need to express myself liberally...) A few of the beginner plot functions might also have been inspired by, but I'm hoping - as I've never read/played/watched Game of Thrones, only heard about it - that the end product will be quite different. :)

-Enjoy.

* * *

Prologue.

"Oh, I am quite sure." The old crone stroked her crystal ball lovingly with a single finger, giving it a close-lipped smile. She was your typical-looking old crone, white frizzy hair liberally ornamented with little bone beads and glass droplets and – reputedly, somewhere – a little bottle containing the dried and shrivelled veins from the rete-merabile of a cow. She had few teeth, only one working eye and was swathed in all manner of multicoloured shawls make of all sorts of fabric, even – some said – human hair. Across from her, a King was mulling over his new information. It was as he had hoped it would not be; war was coming to his lands and in search of his crown.

The crystal ball began to mist again as the crone stroked it, drawing patterns across its surface and she shut her eyes. "When the next full moon rises, King Kramer will make his move."

"Then what should I do? Tell me that."

The crone ceased caressing the ball to poke a withered, bony finger at the King. He stared at the end of it with a mixture of disgust and fear, powerful magic could be dealt with those fingers and he did not appreciate them being waggled under his nose. "You are too hasty, Young King. You think I know all the answers, all the moves you should make. But I do not."

The 'Young King' frowned, grumbling under his breath as he fought with his temper. He was not young, he was nearly 55, fat and unfit, his crown and the power he held in his hand were the only things keeping him popular. The possibility of them being taken away from him had been looming for a long time in the form of assassination attempts and possible coup d'états, but he had overcome those threats with relative ease. A full scale war however, with the only other truly powerful kingdom on Gaia, was enough to rattle his cage. He needed a solution, whatever the old crone said.

"Then tell me who does know." He grit out. The old crone narrowed her singular eye and tapped an extra long nail on her ball.

"No one knows what you are to do; only you know that." She said, adopting an almost scolding tone and picking up a little square cloth to drop over her ball as the mist flickered and died leaving the crystal looking clear and watery. "No one can tell the future, so you're better off not asking for it." She stood up from her rickety seat and moved away into the gloom. The King got up and followed her, the noise of her chains and the chattering guiding his way. "I can't tell you what you're about to do any better than anyone else. Mind your head."

_Thonk!_ "Well what would _you_ do if you were in my position?" The King asked, rubbing his forehead with one hand and holding the other out in front of him to ward off any other obstacles he might come across.

Suddenly the old crone was back, appearing out of the darkness like a spectre and making the King jump. "Now, that's a better question." She said, taking the King by the elbow and spinning him in an abrupt about-face and beginning to frog-march him to the exit. It wasn't very far as it happened, although the walk in had felt like it had taken a hell of a lot longer. But then, when you enter into a world of voodoo and witchcraft, you ought to be prepared for all sorts of odd things to happen to you.

"I would look for someone else who might fight my cause." The crone said, throwing the King unceremoniously from her cell. She pulled the door shut with a _clang_. "Someone with no interest in me or my fortunes."

"The Horse Lords?" The King said, brushing himself off, not at all unhappy about his treatment now that some actual progress seemed to be being made.

"They would certainly fall into that category, though they are an expensive lot and unruly at the best of times."

"But I'd have to give them something in return," The King began to stroke his beard in thought. The crone rolled her eyes; these young things always seemed to think it was _their_ idea to instigate all these wild plans and, alright maybe the slightly more idiotic ideas she would let them take credit for, but the real work was always done by her and never ever attributed. So she was blowed if she was going to help this Young King out any more. She turned and began to shuffle back into her darkness. Behind her, the King was still struggling with an appropriate form of payment. He grabbed onto the bars and called after the crone's retreating back, "What should I give them for my cause?"

"They're an easy lot to please," She called back, gathering up her precious crystal ball and tucking it carefully into her shawls, as a mother would her baby. "Into war, sex and drinking."

"War, sex and drinking...?"

"Or horses, they're into those too, but they've hundreds and hundreds of them so I wouldn't bother with any of those."

"Then what do I give them?"

"What would you want?"

"Well, something I don't have but-" The King stopped. That was the answer; give them something they didn't already have. He turned and left hurriedly, his cloak tails flapping behind him and the dampness that always inhabited the palace dungeons swirled in his wake.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ If you felt that deserved a review PLEASE REVIEW! I FEEL MORE AND MORE THESE DAYS AS THOUGH MY PRESENCE ON THIS SITE IS FADING INTO INSIGNIFICANCE AND I NEED SOME REASSURANCE THAT THAT IS NOT THE CASE! (Also, review if that was read in a 'shouty-voice' :P (Yes I'm trying to generate interest here xD)).

-Iets


	2. The List

_**A/N:**_Ok, here is the real first chapter, where the story begins. I apologise if it's a little obscure at the minute and if Caraway is out of character there's nothing I can do about that because I've never really written him before so I've had no practice. He'll probably change over the course of the fic, so be warned; he's in his 'lavae' stage ;)

* * *

Chapter 1 – The list.

"It would be advised, Sire, to attempt to form an alliance with King Kramer." The King's personal advisor twittered, scurrying around after him as the King paced in his stateroom, fiddling with the edge of a gold embroidered handkerchief as he went. "I'm sure a diplomatic solution would be far preferable to his country as well. There has been an unfavourable harvest this year after all and I do not think it unlikely that the Balambians have suffered as well. Sire, if you would just-"

"Oh, shut up." The King said, turning and chucking his handkerchief, hitting the advisor in the face with it. "I don't want an alliance with the old fool, I want to crush him. And to do that I need the assistance of the Horse Lords." He turned and resumed his pacing as the advisor neatly straightened out and folded the handkerchief and laid it on a table he happened to be stood next to. "So stop rambling on about 'diplomatic solutions' and start thinking about what they don't have but would want."

"Err, 'they', Sire?"

"The Horse Lords for heaven's sake!" The King snapped, waving his arms around as he tried to make his stupid little advisor understand. "The Horse Lords! The country full of battle-hardened Neanderthals selling their blades for a price! The answer to my ultimate question! The Horse Lords we've, been, talking, about!" The last few words were punctuated by hard prods to the advisor's forehead. "Those very same Horse Lords who – God willing – will form an alliance with _me_ to protect _our_ country and consequently save _your_ neck."

The advisor held a hand to his forehead as the King directed his attention elsewhere. He turned to his throne and plonked himself down on it, pushing his crown back up as it slipped forwards a little on his head.

"Right," He grumbled, getting comfortable, "Grab some parchment and a quill and write this down." He gave only a few seconds for his advisor to find some paper before he began to dictate:

"For the Horse Lords;  
-Wine.  
-Food.

-Gold.

-Women.

-Bows.

-Swords.

-Armour.

-Clothing.

-New carts.

-Ships.

-Candles."

The advisor looked up. "Candles, Sire?"

"Yes," The King said, his brows furrowing together in a don't-question-my-judgement expression, "What of it?"

"Well..." The advisor twiddled the quill between his fingers. Dealing with the King at the best of times was a delicate operation and dealing with an irate king just made that so much harder. "I just don't understand what they would do with them..."

"Burn... them...?" The King replied hesitantly, struggling to decide whether the advisor had a point or was simply being an imbecile.

"But scented candles would be utterly useless out in the middle of Centra."

"Oh yes... You have a point... Alright, strike that off the list."

"Daddy!"

The King looked over with a mingled look of surprise and fear as his youngest daughter entered his stateroom with a flourish, dumping her cloak, gloves and other outdoorsy-effects on the floor where an army of servants rushed around to collect them all for her. One of the poor, beleaguered servants swept a bow and panted; "King Caraway, Princess Rinoa Heartily has returned home!"

King Caraway paled, he had completely forgotten that Rinoa was to be expected returned home today and there was only one reason why she would be this excited and/or call him 'Daddy'; she wanted something and it was going to cost him a kidney to get it.

"Rinoa, Daddy's very busy right now," He said as Rinoa threw her arms around him in a hug. "Couldn't this wait?"

Rinoa ignored her father, "I want to get married!" She announced, beaming as he merely blinked at her.

"Married?..." He muttered. Rinoa nodded, still grinning. He looked at his advisor, the beginnings of an idea starting to form in his mind. "Does the King of the Horse Lords have a wife?"

"I'm not sure, Sire," The advisor admitted, tapping the feathery end of his quill to his chin in thought. "I don't believe he does. And I think he's known simply as Lord of the Horse Lords."

"What?"

"Well they don't believe in royalty, Sire, so to call himself a King would be rather blasphemous."

"Whatever, just write 'wife' on the list."

"What's this?" Rinoa asked, looking from one man to the other; the advisor scribbling on the parchment while her father sat back and looked deep in thought. "Who are the Horse Lords?"

"A nation of mercenaries who are going to protect our country from the invading Balambian forces."

Rinoa gasped, her hand coming to her mouth, "Invading?"

King Caraway nodded. "The fortune teller prophesised King Kramer's attack, in search of my crown. It is imperative that we crush him first."

"But that old witch says loads of odd things," Rinoa said quietly, "What if this was just a load of nonsense?"

"Then all the better, we'll be well prepared for the occasion should it arise." The King said, starting to get a little impatient, "Now, I'm very busy and unless you have something constructive to say, go away and do something... Feminine."

Rinoa raised an eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest in a pose not unlike the one her late mother always adopted when someone was about to be checked into her bad books. "So who are you offering up as bait?"

Caraway shrugged and waved her away, he really didn't need her getting involved with the runnings of his country, let alone the diplomacy. At the rate they would be going then, international relations would be based on the giving of fluffy bunnies and/or the number of romance novels produced in each country. It was a disaster just waiting to happen. "I have two daughters unmarried and several other young ladies at my disposal."

Rinoa's jaw dropped, "I'm not marrying a Horse Man! I have a marriage lined up already!"

"Yes, so do I," Caraway nodded, covering his eyes with one hand and gripping the arm of his chair with the other, "And guess who's going to be picking the groom; not you. Now, would you please leave me alone? I have some very important business to attend to." He gestured in the direction of his advisor, who was still sat with his quill at the ready and had been watching the little familial spat with interest. It was not often that Rinoa interacted with her father, but when she did it was always a source of entertainment.

"Just wait until Quistis hears about this," Rinoa said testily, her good mood and lovable humour evaporating, "She won't stand for this at all!"

And then the princess turned and swept out of the room, picking up her pace as her father shouted after her – "She has even less say in the manner than you do!"

Then the stateroom door swung shut and King Caraway and his advisor were left in silence. Caraway sighed, "Where were we?"

"At wives, Sire, for the Horse Lords."

"Oh yes... How many do you think we should provide for?"

"How many do they want?"

* * *

"It's entirely illogical, Zell, don't you see? To have been able to catch her from that distance and with her falling at that speed, he would have to be some kind of Demi-God, or superhuman."

"I don't understand."

"I'm saying that if he caught her like that she'd have his arms off and still hit the rocks and die. If he wanted to save her life he would have to be travelling at exactly the same speed as her and slow her down at a reasonable pace, which would mean he would have to have the ability to fly and a hell of a lot more distance between the cliff-top and the ground in which to slow her fall. Otherwise, what with the risk of cutting his arms off or slicing her into four different pieces, it would be kinder just to let her hit the ground."

"Four different pieces?"

"It says here that he caught her with his arms under her knees and shoulders, which would imply that the four pieces would be her head and shoulders, her torso and thighs and then two legs, providing you're counting each leg as a separate entity and that they weren't jointed at the knee or ankle."

"You're confusing me."

"QUISTIS! _QUISTIS!_"

Quistis and Zell looked round at the shout to see Rinoa running full pelt along the corridor towards them, bright red in the face and – when she skidded to a halt before them – panting like a dog.

Quistis waved one of Rinoa's sappy romance novels under her sister's nose. "Do you realise the amount of drivel that is being poured into your head through reading even _one_ of these things? It's a wonder you've got _any_ kind of grip on the real world with this sort of sloppy workmanship floating about in your room."

Rinoa shook her head, "Not... Sloppy!" She panted, "Just... Misunder-...-stood..."

"I was trying to complain to Zell about the complete disregard for any laws of physics-"

"Dad's... Gone... Mad..."

"-But he didn't understand what was so wrong with it."

"It's... Important!"

"This part when she falls off a cliff and prince charming just so happens to be at the bottom to catch her and magically save her life, is complete and utter twoddle."

"I love... That part... And you're... Ignoring me!"

"Yes, I am. Mainly because whatever you consider to be vitally important, I consider to be trivial as it usually revolves around boys, bunnies, Angelo or all three."

Rinoa straightened up from where she had bent double, leaning on Zell and trying to catch her breath. "No, Quistis," She said seriously, "This is about marriage!"

"There we go," Quistis said, snapping the book shut and turning away to go into her room, "Told you it was trivial."

Rinoa followed her, "No but-"

"You've been wanting to marry the guy for ages and the King keeps saying you can't, so you may as well stop asking." Quistis said, dropping the 'sloppy workmanship' into the bin by the door and going to her bookshelf. "Either that or just go and elope, but I don't suppose 'Daddy' will be so pleased to pay for the wedding then."

"Quistis," Rinoa whined, fishing her book out of the bin, "I'm not going to elope with the prince of a country and this was my favourite book!"

"Here," Quistis said, ignoring Rinoa's whinging and holding out a thick leather-bound book. "This is all about the existential side of philosophy and I dare-say far more interesting that the unrealistic mumbo-jumbo you're holding in your hand."

Momentarily distracted, Rinoa took the proffered book and allowed Quistis to pluck the romance novel from her hand once more to toss in the bin. "Existenial?"

"Existential," Quistis corrected, "With any luck it will give you a far better outlook on life and may even give you cause to make something of yourself in the future. Like, for example, going off and marrying what's-his-face Leonhart."

"Oh!" Rinoa yelped, dropping the book and grabbing Quistis' hand, "That's what I've been trying to tell you! Dad says he's going to marry one of us off to some Horse Man!"

"A Horse Man?" Quistis frowned, "Do you mean a Horse Lord?"

"Yes, that's them! Dad said something about them protecting our country, but I don't know anything else about them and I don't want to be married to a Horse Man, I'm going to marry Prince Leonhart!"

"I don't know anything about them either..."

Zell poked his head around the door, knocking softly, "Excuse me, Ladies?" They looked at him. "The Horse Lords are a group of nomadic tribes living in Centra. They're hired sometimes to fight in wars, but they can easily change sides depending on who's the highest bidder. They're really brutal so normally the war is over before it starts, simply because whoever has to face them surrenders pretty quickly."

"But Dad said one of us would be marrying the King or something," Rinoa frowned, "How can a bunch of nomadic tribes have a single king?"

"Well..." Zell poked his fingers inside his visor to scratch at his head, "The last I heard they were united by one guy, Alma-something, but he lets them roam around if they want to. The leaders of the tribes were always chosen by who was the better fighter, or something like that, so as long as this guy stays good at fighting, he can keep his kingship, or whatever."

"Thank you, Zell." Quistis said, dipping a small curtsey, before grabbing Rinoa's arm and dragging her from the room and along the corridor, Zell following behind them. "We need to speak with our father and get a few things straight I think."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ How was that? Not good enough for a review? I understand... I guess I'll just write it for myself then... :'(

-Iets


	3. The Prospects Were Grim

_**A/N:**_Hello, thank you Violet and Nikpt-o for your reviews, they mean quite a lot actually.  
Here we have the next chapter of Game of Thrones, I'm hoping that (as this goes along) it will become clearer as to what's happening and I plan on doing a re-write of the previous chapters (I know, that was quick xD) so if there is anything you think is dramatically wrong with it or that it's confusing, please point it out because it's you guys I'm writing this for, thanks.

Enjoy,

* * *

Chapter 2 - The prospects were grim.

Caraway was in his study when Edea was brought to him. She stood in the door while he paced. The look on her face was one of calculation, it was quiet and her eyes followed him around the room, though her head rarely moved an inch, her brows were set in a soft frown and her lips slightly pursed. It was rare for him to call her from her room – she certainly thought of it as her room even if he didn't, it was littered with her belongings – and to make matters even more curious, he seemed troubled.

She didn't say a word or move at all until Caraway's pacing had come to a stop, turning to face her slowly. He had been pacing with his fingers to his chin and now he took them away to clench his fist, as though making a decision.

"Your death may be approaching quite fast, Edea." He said quietly, his eyes roving her face. "Your old husband is coming to my door with soldiers and gunpowder, ready to blow me in and I cannot have you around anymore."

Edea stayed silent. Twelve years of imprisonment had taught her when and where to hold her tongue. This was invariably always with the servants and everywhere they may hear her talking. Holding her silence in front of the King was another thing altogether, although she could only speak when she was bidden, she was allowed to talk back, even to laugh if she so wished. It was a respite well worth the less than desirable company, but right now Caraway was obviously in one of his moods, so speech of any kind had to be well planned and well executed.

Caraway walked to his window and looked out over his lands. "Do you think he would want you back? After so many years?" He sighed softly, "I would not have my wife back for the world, not after twelve years of infidelity."

The glance he threw her way bounced right off. She was barely focusing on him. He looked back out the window, "If he finds you here, he will likely have you beheaded. You are so well kept; it would be hard to believe you don't really want to be here. If you had been a little more roughed up, it would be easier to believe, but then he wouldn't want you back anyway, as an old woman."

He turned around fully, folding his arms over his slight belly and watching her. At first, the old crones words had been a warning of a slight inconvenience at best, but the more he thought about it the more problems began to arise; one of which was Edea Kramer. She had been a Queen once, but now her only purpose was to keep his bed warm at night. The novelty of having King Kramer's Queen in his bed was fast wearing off with the other man's wrath fast approaching and there would be many more who could replace her. Perhaps even some who would want to. "Do you fear death, Edea?"

She blinked, "Should I?"

"Unless I have another solution to the little problem I'm having, death is what you will be faced with."

"I do not fear the unknown, Your Majesty," Edea said softly, "It is not within my countenance to mimic the behaviour of others."

Caraway scowled and unfolded his arms, walking until he was only a few millimetres in front of her face and his breath fluttered the hair that curled around her cheeks. "Do not mock me, bitch, death is a thing all mortal men fear, so," He caught the hiss his words were turning into, calming himself enough to wipe his spittle off her chin, "If you do not fear death now, you will."

Once he had swept past her and the door had banged off the wall, Edea let her lip curl and she scrubbed her sleeve across her face, wiping the spit away. She did not lie about death and she doubted very much that Caraway could make her fear the thing itself, but she dreaded the thought of Cid discovering her unsavoury past of the last twelve years. She tried unsuccessfully to compose her features; she could simply not bear the idea of him knowing she was alive in the world, and think ill of her.

* * *

'Lord,

My country and I are under threat and in need of your protection. I request, therefore, an audience with you to be held in Dollet Palace at your earliest convenience.

I assure you that full payments of goods will be made in return for any of your assistance, of course.

Please reply with haste,

Caraway, King of Galbadia.'

He folded the letter into three parts and reached for a little lump of red wax to melt over the already-burning candle and then drip onto the partition in the paper. He put his seal on it and stood up from his chair just as his two daughters burst into the room, both breathing heavily as if they had been running all over the palace looking for him.

"Father!" Quistis started it off just a guard – Caraway couldn't remember his name – skittered into the room. "Rinoa say's we're being invaded and that you're selling us to the Horse Lords! Is this true?"

Caraway nodded and swept past them out of the room. "King Kramer has been prophesized to attack us before the next full moon-"

"But that's barely a fortnight away!"

"- and I need to prepare my country for the strains that will be put on it."

"By marrying us off to some horse thieves and murderers?"

Caraway raised his eyes to the heavens, why oh why did he have to end up with two daughters? Why couldn't he have had two sons? They would be far more pragmatic than these airy-fairy females. "They are swords for hire, not horse thieves and we must pay them with something."

"But why us?"

He stopped his march at a door to the outside and turned round to face his daughters and... That guard. Caraway raised an eyebrow, "Who're you?"

The guard scratched his helmet, "Err, Dincht, Sir."

"Dincht?"

"Yes, Sir."

Caraway looked him up and down. "What are you doing here?"

" Erm..." This time Quistis and Rinoa turned to look at him too. He spluttered out an apology and about-faced, double-timing it back the way he came.

"Right," Caraway shook his head, non-plussed, "Where were we?"

"Wives." Rinoa and Quistis drawled together.

"Yes, wives. The pair of you hold the most value," he explained, exiting through the door into a side garden with a winding cobble-stone path that would lead to an Avery, "Therefore I can buy a bigger army if I marry you two off."

"But, Daddy," Rinoa whined, wrinkling her nose at the mud she had to lift her skirts clear of, "I want to marry Prince Leonhart."

"Will he sell me a bigger army for you?"

"Ye-"

"She wouldn't want to marry him if he would."

"Quistiiiiisss!"

"It's got to be for luuurve."

Caraway rolled his eyes and stepped into the Avery. It was very smelly and covered in bird poo. It was a place rarely visited by the royal family and even then only in times of crisis or emergency, so the presence of all three family members, two of whom were squabbling, had the two handlers out of their seats and their afternoon tea all over the floor. They threw a salute.

"Have an eagle fly this to the Horse Lords of Centra right away." Caraway said, ignoring the looks the pair exchanged and placing the letter on the table in front of them. "It must be there within three days, I don't want to be waiting around."

"Father," Quistis addressed him as they began their trek back towards the palace, "Don't you think we ought to have time to discuss this before you make any rash decisions?"

"There's no need to discuss, I know perfectly well what is good for my country." He replied tersely, "And if you knew what was good for _you_ you'd hold your tongue girl, you have no say in how I run my kingdom."

"But I _should_ have a say in how I run my life."

"You don't have a say in how you run your life," Caraway said as they reached the door. He turned back to give them both stern looks, fixing his gaze on Quistis in particular, "_I_ will run your lives until you are married and after that, it will be your husbands." Then he swept through the door, leaving the two girls behind.

There was a pregnant silence before Rinoa looked sideways at her sister and sighed. "You know, I don't think my sappy romance novels are all that bad."

Quistis heaved a sigh and glanced at Rinoa from the corner of her eye, before reaching for the door handle. "You know for once, I don't think you're wrong."

* * *

Zell was waiting outside their doors when they arrived back at their rooms and was obviously intensely curious as to what the verdict had been. He stared openly at them as they marched side by side along the corridor and cocked his head as though expecting to be informed immediately. Both girls simply marched past him into their individual rooms and slammed the doors shut, right on cue.

Quistis went straight to her bookshelf and she was fairly sure Rinoa would be doing the same, though the books they would be seeking solace in were likely to be entirely different. After all, Sartre's 'On Existentialism and God' still lay on Quistis' floor; in fact she had to step over it on the way in. Quistis loved books on philosophy or psychology, anything that could help her define herself in a world built for men and the accomplished. So far they had gotten her nowhere, but she still saw the sense in them.

She flicked through the titles with a finger and pulled a book by Plato from the shelf, flopping down on a chaise-longue under the window to read. She wondered distantly how long it would be until she couldn't read Plato, or Sartre, or Heidegger, or Nietzsche ever again. She highly doubted they would allow her to take all her books with her to Centra. If it was true that the Horse Lords lead a primarily nomadic life, then she would hardly be able to bring her library with her.

It was kind of funny, that feeling; knowing you were about to be forced into something horrible, encompassing, and arguably life-changing. It felt almost as if she was meant for the block, only a little less permanent and a little more frightening.

Unable to get suitably stuck into 'Impersonal propositions' she slammed the book shut and turned her attention to the view instead. It wasn't really very special, just rolling hills as far as the eye could see, littered with trees, bushes and sheep. In the distance a little hamlet stood on a lonely hill. Hyne, if only she had been born a peasant, then she would never have to be forced into an unfavourable marriage. Although, that being said, she would probably have to put up with far worse things. Like disease.

Oh, that was another thing. These barbarians her father was selling her off to, were they clean? How would she wash? She thought it highly unlikely that they would have steaming hot baths every night, or even once a fortnight. Or even, ever. Did they wash? Did they know what washing was? Could she teach them? No, that was a silly idea, they probably didn't even speak the common tongue.

And that was _another_ thing! How would she communicate with her new – dare she think the word? – husband? She'd have to draw everything in little symbols or just point. She groaned and rubbed at her eyes. She _hated_ doing things that made her feel inferior and pointing and making noises at things while they were happily spouting their own lingo would _definitely_ make her feel inferior. But her aside, how would Rinoa fair? Far worse, if she was willing to put her money on anything.

Quistis had learnt to punch from one of the palace guards when her mother had still been alive and still practised sometimes in the officer's chorale when she felt the need to let off some steam. But as far she knew, Rinoa had never considered doing anything of the sort, let alone actually punched something. Hyne no, her nails might chip! Rinoa was probably in her room right now reading some sappy romance, getting sucked into the fluffiness of it all and completely forgetting that A) it was complete and utter tosh, and B) in just over three days she was going to be sold off to a Neanderthal in a foreign land with straw for brains and a pebble for a heart. Sad, really...

* * *

**_A/N:_** So, thoughts? Best bit? Worst bit? In my opinion - unless you know exactly how they're supposed to have said it - some of the dialogue seems a little out of place... Dunno if that's just me being picky or what...

-Iets


	4. Party Pooper

_**A/N:**_ Hey again, here's another chapter, once again thanks Violet for reviewing, in clarification, I've never actually read the books and I've only seen snippets of the TV show, so if the characters turn out a like, it's purely coinsidence, although I do plan on doing a hell of a lot of character developments along the way xD.  
So, that aside, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 3 – Party Pooper.

Edea smiled softly as she walked around the ballroom. Tonight was the birthday of Princess Rinoa, she was 16 today and the party Caraway was throwing was lavish. All the lords in the kingdom had been invited to bring their ladies for a night of celebration. The ballroom glittered with the candle-light that reflected off the stained glass windows and an enormous orchestra played on the raised dais, behind the King's throne. Servants patrolled the castle with trays of refreshments, attending to the drunks and keeping their guests' glasses brimmed. The Great Hall was laid out in fine silver dining ware on red silk dining cloths, new tapestries depicting the kingdom's grandeur had been fabricated specifically for this evening and on the centre banqueting table, a gigantic marzipan black bear stood, with a chocolate arrow through its heart. Every room was filled to bursting with people talking, eating, drinking and dancing, Edea had spent a good long time hiding in the library until a courtesan and one of the servant's had disrupted her privacy with some very enthusiastic acrobatics that would likely have the servant beheaded if his secret was ever spilt. But – from the whispered words Edea had picked up as she crept to the exit – the pair seemed genuinely in love, so she saw no reason to spill the beans.

She was now making her way around the wall of the ballroom, avoiding the glances of many and staying as far away from the King and Princess Rinoa as she could. The young Crown Princess had been gifted a beautiful ball-gown by her father and a harp. The dress was made from ivory coloured silk with powder-blue thread embroidering a swirling pattern of feathers. The bodice was the elegant type, butterfly at the top, pinched at the bottom, while the skirts burst into a dome at her hips and the sleeves were puffy at the shoulder, then tight until the cuff at her elbow. The thing was obviously ribbed as well as Edea had seen Rinoa walking about before and she had never looked that thin before. An arrangement of gold jewellery completed the look and a set of beaded twines had been woven into an intricate looking hairstyle that Edea couldn't even begin to comprehend.

The King had also donned his newest and most expensive costume, but his garb didn't garner nearly the same attention as his daughters. Never the less, Edea wanted nothing to do with either of them and slipped out of the room as soon as she was able. Except the balcony she had stepped onto was occupied by the other member of the Royal family. Princess Quistis turned round at the sound of footsteps and Edea stopped in her tracks. Truth be told she hadn't intended on running into _any_ of the Royals tonight, but apparently the Gods wouldn't let her alone.

She dipped a quick curtsey and made to leave, "I'm sorry, I thought this was empty."

The Princess shook her head, "No, it's alright. Please, stay."

Edea cursed inwardly; staying was not at all what she'd had in mind, but she was bound to do as she was told, even by a mere Princess. She nodded and walked up to the edge, feeling anxious and extremely out of place. She regarded Quistis from the corner of her eye. Princess Quistis wasn't the Crown Princess and as such she wasn't dressed to nearly the same standard as her sister. Her dress was seashell-pink and fell straight down. It had very little embroidery, only a little around the diamond cuffs at her wrists and around the neckline. A silver belt was around her waist and a small silver pendant rested on her collar bones. To Edea's relief, her hairstyle was extremely simple; her long blond hair had been platted and wound round in a bun at the base of her head. The result looked a lot like a spinning wheel, but the golden colour of the Princess's hair lightened the effect.

As a woman of high secretly high status herself, Edea knew what people meant by a little going a long way and the simple look of Quistis' garb was far preferable – in Edea's mind – to the pomp of her family. The young woman's judgement often gained her amounts of respect from the older woman and tonight proved to be no different.

"Tell me," Quistis began, leaning her elbows on the balcony's edge, "You have a family, do you not?"

"In the past." Edea admitted. Apparently she was unrecognisable tonight. Caraway had seen it fit to give her some new clothes so she might enjoy the festivities with impunity and the midnight blue gown she wore certainly made her look younger and fresher than usual.

"Then how was your father?" Quistis asked quietly, then added with a light snort, "Like mine?"

"Not really."

"How was he?"

"Lively, caring-"

"My father is uncaring?"

Edea swallowed apprehensively. She spied a brass goblet on the edge of the balcony and rightly assumed that the Princess had been drinking. It would probably mean she was more irritable, although how much wine the Princess could consume before becoming violent had never truly been gauged. She hoped it was a little more than one cup of wine.

When Edea said nothing, a lazy smile slipped across Quistis' face. She nodded, "You were lucky to have a caring father. Would that I was born a Lord's daughter and not a King's, then perhaps I would not have to endure being thrust about the political turn-style until I am either blue in the face or turn to drink." She eyed Edea, "Who did you marry?"

"A kind man." Edea said, relaxing a little now that it was apparent the Princess was neither drunk, nor irritable. Simply upset about the father she'd been landed with. Hyne knew Quistis had never received a birthday party this grand, not on her 18th and certainly not on her 16th.

"I was unaware there were kind men out there." Quistis admitted, picking up the goblet and turning it upside down. A tiny drop fell, but then nothing. "Would you believe I've been running away from My Lord Deling all evening? He's been following me about trying to engage me in talk of tapestries and fine dining. Terribly boring talk."

"Then what would interest you more, My Lady?" Edea asked, also leaning her frame upon the balcony's edge. She regarded the Princess as a reasonable person, with intellect and many accomplishments and interests and – although she had not originally intended to engage in any sort of interaction with the young woman - she found her company to be a welcome change of pace. More welcome that the change of pace the old king seemed to make every evening in any case.

"Philosophy." Quistis said instantly, then sighed and put the goblet back on the edge, beginning to toy with its base. "But when I tried to change the topic to existentialism he told me I ought not to fill me head with such silly notions."

Edea couldn't imagine that went down well. "What then?"

"Well, I asked why, he said it was worthless to fight against a fate that had already been decided for me and I told him I felt sick and had to get some fresh air." She grinned, "He offered to join me but I suggested that if he didn't want to come back with my vomit down his front and a different set of stripes on his sleeve, he'd best think twice."

Edea cracked a smile. The Princess's wit often got her into trouble with her father, but there were far worse things to tease Deling about than his emetophobia. His erratic mating behaviour for example or the little circle of hair that was mysteriously missing from the side of his head. All were fair game for the witty or brave enough.

"So," Edea was pleased to carry along in this vein, "Would you call yourself an existentialist?"

"Only in the sense that we define ourselves by what we do. I wouldn't go so far as to say we are completely personality-less when we are born, otherwise, having gone through the same early processes, we would all turn out the same. I think it's more complicated than that." She glanced over, "What do you think?"

"Oh, I have no idea." Edea said with a soft smile. "It's been years since I thought about making anything of myself. I don't think I've anything _left_ to attempt to turn into something worthwhile."

Quistis said nothing and the two women stood in silence in the dark, backlit by the candle-light from inside and perfectly comfortable. It seemed, therefore, only fitting considering the conversation they had just had for their silence to be broken by Deling stepping out onto the balcony. Both women regarded him with an aura of exasperation.

He cleared his throat and addressed Quistis. "I trust Milady is feeling better?" She nodded, "Then you will not reject my hand-" Edea watched the Princess's eyes widen in fear, "-for the next dance."

An audible sigh of relief was heard and Quistis straightened up, turning to Edea, who also stood straighter, and curtseyed. "Thank you ever so much for your time, My Lady," She said stiffly, "You're company has been most diverting, but I'm afraid you must excuse me."

Edea nodded and curtseyed as Quistis walked away, straight past Deling, who performed a hasty bow to Edea, and then bit a hasty exit after Quistis, who was walking as quickly as she possibly could into the throng of the crowd.

* * *

_**DONT GO AWAY! A/N: **_Ok, it's decision time. I am putting it to YOU at the end of some chapters, to make some decisions, call the shots, make the story your own. Depending on the answers you give, the plot could go one of two ways. Sometimes the questions might seem trivial, but trust me, they will have huge repercussions depending on what you pick. The chosen plot paths will of course be based on a majority vote.

So, the decision this time... Dance with Deling? Or not?

Leave your decision in a review and I'll count it up and make it happen.

-Iets.


	5. The Party: Part, the Second

_**A/N:**_ Right, nearly 3000 words in this one, I'm trying to lengthen them out, get a little more continuity. Anyway, sorry about the wait, I was hoping more people would review so there might actually be some votes on whether to dance or not to count up, but it would seem no one likes this thing well enough to review and decide for themselves what they would do. Oh well..

Violet: This one's for you, keep 'em comin', Darlin' ;)

* * *

"Wait, Milady!" Deling's voice called out to her as Quistis fled, but the last thing she wanted to do was wait for him. In her opinion, Deling was a man best avoided. There was always something about him that put her off him; maybe it was the bald-patch on the side of his head, maybe it was that his cheeks were too chubby which made his nose look slightly screwed up and in turn made him look a little like one of the pigs in the butchers yard, or maybe it was just the fact that he was too old for her. Perhaps it was because he was the product of inbreeding. Whatever the case, womanizing and male-pattern baldness were not at the top of her attraction list. Deling caught up to her and took old of her elbow, slowing her down. "Wait," he repeated and cleared his throat. "I thought you had promised me a dance."

She stifled a sigh of frustration and said sweetly, "I made no such promises, Ser Deling and you should not assume that I would have done."

"But our conversation-"

"Was enthralling, but contained no mention of a dance."

His eyebrows knit together, then he said, determined, "Then I request a dance now, Milady."

She thought for a few seconds about how bored she was and even mildly upset about how few people wanted to talk to her tonight, most of the people in the room had already spoken to Rinoa and the rest were waiting in line to do so, but no one besides Deling and that other lady – who had even been a little reluctant at the start – had bothered to talk to _her_. It wasn't something she was unused to, but hell, even Quistis would have appreciated some attention from time to time. She rolled her eyes and held out her hand, "Very well, a single dance."

Deling's grin could have split his face. She forced her features into a neutral expression and ignored the sweat on his palms as he pulled her out onto the floor. As they started to dance, Quistis took the time to look around the room. There were plenty of couples dancing and most people had smiles on their faces, but the person she had most expected to see smiling, wasn't. Rinoa was standing with her father looking glum – she had been determined to be unhappy for as long as it took for 'Daddy' to allow her to marry Prince Leonhart – and she had even started to pout. It wasn't an attractive expression, but it was a habit of Rinoa's that had never been conquered.

The dance took them sweeping by where Rinoa and her father were standing and unfortunately caught their attention. Rinoa looked a little puzzled, but her father looked immediately as though he was thinking. That was never a good sign. Quistis felt something begin to churn in her stomach, something a little like dread. Oblivious to her plight, Deling switched on the 'charm'. "You're looking exceptionally beautiful tonight, Milady." He said, kissing the back of the hand he held.

She failed to hide her immediate disgust, but managed to stop herself from ripping her hand from his grip. "Thank you." She grit out.

"And a wonderful dancer."

"Thank you."

"It's as though we were made for each other."

_Uh oh_. "Well, unfortunately I am promised to someone else, so even if we _were_ – however unlikely the case may be – 'made' for each other, it would amount to nothing in the end." Sweaty palms, womanizing tricks and fear of the chunder aside, marrying Deling – for that was what she feared he meant – was simply out of the question. Marriage itself was pretty far down on the list of likes, but Timber was _way_ too close to Galbadia for her liking and the further away from King Caraway she could get – he wasn't currently her favourite person in the world for obvious reasons – the better. Which would ultimately mean she was stuck marrying the Horse Man, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

"I am sure," his hand slipped to her waist, pulling her closer to him, "This other man would not mind giving you up to one such as myself. It would be an honourable loss."

She sought for a way to put him off the scent, "My father would have to be the judge of that, I'm afraid."

"I'm sure we can persuade him," Deling said, either oblivious to her plight or simply too wilful to give a damn. "Then you and I could be married within the month!"

Quistis began to panic. It wasn't that Deling's hand was now hovering dangerously close to her bottom or that his gaze had dropped to her chest and his eyebrows had furrowed as though desperately attempt to mentally undress her, it was that he had just confirmed an idea that presented a very real danger. With a Horse Lord, it was quite possible that their customs be different and she might get a little bit of a reprieve between the loss of her freedom and the loss of her maidenhood, but with Deling there would be at most a few hours between the two and she _really_ did not want to have sex with the man. He was far old enough to be her dad and looked like he ought to be related to her anyway! Oh, maybe _that_ was what she didn't like.

She cleared her throat as Deling's hand reached her bum. "I'm afraid the wedding date has already been set and we couldn't possibly rearrange at such a late date, I'm sorry."

The music ended and the dance floor around them began to clear as Deling asked, "I'm sorry, but who are you promised to?"

"The Lord of the Horse Lords, My Lord."

"You mean Almasy?!" He exclaimed, looking repulsed. She nodded. "But he's a brute! You'd be much better marrying me."

Quistis swallowed thickly, wondering just what it was she'd gotten herself into. If even Deling thought the man to be terrible, what would _she_ think? And to think she'd been trying so hard to convince herself to marry the chap too...

Deling began to drag her over to where Rinoa and her father were stood making small talk with some foreign diplomats. Deling cleared his throat and announced, "Your grace, I would like to marry your daughter."

Three pairs of wide eyes turned to look at Deling, who was clutching Quistis' hand in his.

Caraway was the first one to return to business mode, "Really?" He asked, sounding far too interested for Quistis' liking. "Why?"

"Well as you may know," Deling began to rattle off a spiel he'd clearly been practising and had probably made up to attempt to persuade some other poor wench's father some years ago. "I've been searching for a wife for some time now, someone kind and beautiful who would bear good children and keep me happy, but have thus far been unsuccessful in my search." He grinned at her, "Well I think my search has come to an end with your daughter."

"Really?" Caraway seemed outwardly pleased, but Quistis was certain – hopeful – there was some serious calculating going on in his mind. "That's lovely to hear, but Quistis was recently engaged to Lord Almasy."

"Ah, yes I heard about that-"

"And as a matter of important diplomatic business."

"Business?"

Taking the chance to hopefully steer the conversation towards a desirable ending, Quistis interrupted. "Highly important! 'Concerning the future of this country' highly important. I'm going to secure an army capable of defeating King Kramer's forces in battle."

Deling looked a little shocked, "Galbadia is under attack?"

"Not yet," Caraway took the reins again, "But it looks likely so precautionary action is being taken, including the recruitment of the Horse Lords for our cause."

"Oh well I can recruit the Horse Lords for you." Deling announced, seeming pleased to be able to 'help'.

"Oh that's not necessary," Quistis butt in, hurrying to salvage the situation, "We're handling it."

"Nonsense," Deling shook his head and waved away her comment. "I wouldn't have you handed over to some Neanderthal like Almasy." He addressed Caraway, "Your grace, I have had experience in dealing with the Horse Lords before and I assure you I could secure their allegiance without the need to marry off one of your beautiful daughters."

There was a moment of silence within the group while Caraway considered. Deling squeezed Quistis' hand in what he probably thought was a reassuring gesture, but it actually just made her feel ill again. Rinoa was frowning at Quistis, clearly trying to work out if her sister actually _wanted_ this or not. Thinking _NOT(!), _Quistis gave her a panicked look which seemed to set some doubts aside and Rinoa turned a condescending eye to Deling.

"Are you sure you could get their allegiance?" She asked, fluttering her eyelashes, cocking her head on the side so her hair fell off her shoulder in a manner designed to distract otherwise respectful gentlemen. "Wouldn't the allegiance of Timber be far more profitable to both yourself and us when considering the future of our two countries?"

"W-well, if the Crown Princess would just-"

"Surely Quistis would be better respected if you had earned the marriage?"

"Well perhaps but-"

"I think a marriage to another young lady would be far better suited, Daddy." Rinoa said to Caraway, looping her arm through his. "After all, we have already sent word to the Horse Men saying Quistis is a part of the deal. To change it now might make them angry and then they'll ally with someone else."

Quistis was surprised, although not all of what Rinoa had said was strictly correct – they hadn't actually written any details of the payment to the Horse Lords, simply an invitation to a meet – it sounded plausible and Deling was now staring at the floor and frowning on concentration, probably wondering how e could manoeuvre the situation into another marriage design on her good self. Rinoa winked at her sister and Quistis returned with a small smile and a mouthed 'thank you'.

Caraway didn't look entirely convinced though and asked his advisor – who had been standing nearby throughout the evening, giving little facts about each person and introducing the more important diplomatic members to the King and Crown Princess directly – "Would it be more beneficial to us to enlist the Horse Lords ourselves? Or allow Ser Deling to secure them on our behalf?"

The advisor stepped up and cleared his throat – the outcome of this question was a fairly well set one, it was common knowledge the advisor did _not_ like Deling at all – "It would be far more beneficial to Galbadia should we deal with the Horse Lords _ourselves, _then we would have a direct connection with them for the future."

Deling began to protest, "But there's no guarantee that they would listen-"

"Then the same would apply to you." Quistis interrupted him, extracting her hand from his slippery grip and moving to stand beside her sister. She turned to her and said at a whisper, "Now let's just pray this Horse Lord has a godlike appearance." Rinoa giggled.

It was while Deling was spluttering like a beached fish that one of the servants approached with a message for the King. "It just arrived, your Grace," He said, then leant in and whispered so other's couldn't hear, "From the Horse Lords."

Caraway's eyebrows rose as he took the proffered note and peeled off the yellow wax seal. Rinoa, Quistis and the Advisor all craned their necks to try and see. It said simply; _"We're coming."_

* * *

"Oh thank Hyne!" Rinoa laughed, "I thought she was about to fall out of her dress!"

"Hush!" Quistis shushed her, also giggling, "We mustn't be unkind to Lady Tope." She said, then added under her breath, "Even if she is a little on the porky side..."

Rinoa's jaw dropped and then, on the realisation that she apparently didn't say it quiet enough, Quistis' jaw dropped too and the two girls stared open-mouthed at each other for a couple of seconds before descending into peals of laughter again. They were sat on Rinoa's bed unwinding after the night's festivities and Quistis was supposed to be helping Rinoa take her hair down. The room was largely dark with only a small cluster of candles lighting it dimly. The sun would soon start to rise over the distant hills and then the room would be ablaze with sunshine, but they still had a good hour before that.

"What do you think the Horse Men will be like?" Rinoa asked as Quistis reached for the hair brush on the bedside table. "Do you think they'll be tall?"

"I don't know. I imagine so."

"Handsome?"

"Let's hope so..."

Rinoa giggled, then winced as Quistis caught a tangle. She fiddled with some more of her hair, pulling out pins and dropping them in a heap on the bed sheets. She let out a sigh, "Do you think he'll take both of us away?"

Quistis shrugged and they fell silent for a while before she answered. "I hope he takes _me_ away at least."

"Why you?"

"Because if he doesn't I'll have to marry Ser Deling." She said, then pulled a face. Rinoa giggled and shook her head to try and get the last pins free.

"Oh come here, you're flinging pins everywhere." Quistis said, grabbing handfuls of Rinoa's hair, sifting through it for the pins.

They were silent again for a little while, the topic of conversation turning the atmosphere in the room sombre. At last the last pin was extracted and Quistis gathered the whole lot into her hands and went to dump them on the dressing table while Rinoa clambered under the covers. "When will they be here?" She asked as Quistis blew out the cluster of candles.

"Soon probably," She said, "Now go to sleep, there's only a while before dawn and then we'll have to go to breakfast." Then she went to the door and left, crossing across the hallway to her room – giving Zell (who had previously been nodding off but had scrambled upright at her appearance) a small grin – and disappearing into her quiet abode.

She stood leaning against the door for a while, staring into the darkness. Her room did not face east, but north and she had a perfect view of the mountains with their snowy caps. She had always wanted to go to the north, to feel the cold on her skin instead of the burning of the sun, and it looked as though someday soon she might get her wish, although the price to pay was a bit steep in her opinion. She crossed to the window and sat herself down on the sill.

To the Horse Lords, all the world was their Kingdom. The Middle Kingdom... That was what they called Galbadia, Timber and Dollet. Balamb was in the Eastern Kingdom, Centra in the Southern Kingdom, Esthar in the West and the North... It was unchartered territory. Old legends spoke of the Ancient Trabian Kings and their Gods of Fire and Ice, but those legends were all that now remained of the Kingdoms in the North. The North was cut off from the rest of the world by a stretch of water the Four Kingdoms called the Narrow Sea, but it was dug by hand and had but one bridge across, barely big enough for three horses to walk abreast and guarded at all times by the Last Army. The Narrow Sea had been dug in ancient times to keep the Trabian Kings safe from the Four Kingdoms, but now that there was nothing left of the Trabian Kings, questions were always asked about why the Narrow Sea was there. After all, if there was no one over there who needed protecting, why weren't there more bridges over it? How come those who went over seldom returned? What... Horrors?

The only people to return from the North were the Horse Lords, but then again they roamed all over the land, Middle Kingdoms and all. They weren't at all bothered by the scare-stories of the people, they went where they pleased and travelled across all lands, regardless of owners. Their occasional allegiance was a sort of payment, Lords and Kings were happy to allow them passage for a little 'helping hand' along the route to power, and glory. Quistis wondered if some of the stories were true, if any at all. When she was a little girl, hearing them from her mother, it all seemed so far away, so farfetched that a Tribe of unconquerable men roamed the lands, untouched by disease or hardship. Now she was that much closer – she yawned as down below the horses in the stable yard whickered softly to each other – she wanted to find out for real if they were true.

She couldn't remember much of her mother, she died when she was very little, only 3 or 4 years old, all she could remember was bright, yellow hair, a thin body dressed in a light green fabric that wafted as she moved – from the window to where Quistis was by the door – and a voice, reedy and thin, like butter spread over too much bread. Just that one scene that played out in her mind... She wondered what her mother would think of her now, an intellectual living like a princess about to be sold off like an object to be a slave to a Tribe of savages. But at least she wouldn't be marrying an inbred swine, right? Somehow she didn't think her mother would very proud at all. She let that thought carry her to her bed.

* * *

**_A/N:_** Nothing to decide this time folks, but I'll try to have the next chapter out some time tonight. You would never believe how difficult it is to write a chapter to someone else's spec... Oh, and if you're thinking 'But that hardly changed the plot line at all!' it did, actually, only a little bit, more about how Deling handles himself in later chapters - his goal is, after all, the same throughout - but the changes now could very well save some lives later on. So be careful how you play this story, how you play this... Game of Thrones ;)

-Iets


	6. They're coming!

_**A/N:**_ I know I said I would get this out last night, but hey, some of us have lives too you know :( (Not me otherwize I would probably be doing something more productive than writing fanfiction, but nevermind... moving swiftly on...).  
**WARNING! **This chapter contains **RAPE** in the last segment, if you're against that, don't read it, but I'm retty sure you can guess from the rest of the chapter who the participants are...

Anyway, that aside, please enjoy :)

* * *

Chapter 5 - They're coming this way, they're coming today, all hide away!

Dust began to rise under their horse's hooves sometime around midmorning and the dirt on the ground turned from light brown to yellow. The changes were slight, but they signalled the beginning of the end of their trek. Dirty and weary, the Horse Lord Tribe had ground to a halt on the outskirts of a small hamlet in the Middle Kingdom. They had been travelling for three days straight already and were nearly out of water, the little stream that ran through the hamlet was a perfect place to stop for a drink, though now the water ran brown with the mud it washed off their horses' hooves.

A way away from the crowds of his people, the Khal sat on a rock, eating an apple he had picked from the tree above his head. It was sour and hard as bullets, but it was a hell of a lot fresher than half the stuff they had along with them. Despite its flavour, it was a welcome snack. Certainly his horse – busily snaffling up the fallen ones on the ground - thought so.

"Khal," A tall man with tanned skin and dark hair in a long braid down his back approached the Khal, speaking in The Tongue. "We're within a day's hard ride from the meeting place."

"You can see it?" He asked his second in command, tossing the man an apple.

"Through the looking glass." He confirmed, biting into the apple, making a face, but continuing to eat it anyway. "We can see the towers."

"Good," The Khal said, tossing his apple core into the line of his horse and watched as the beast gobbled it up happily, "Then we will rest here for the day and a night, allow our horses to eat and drink, let them sleep and rest." He stood up and clapped a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Then we will ride for the meeting place."

The second nodded as the Khal walked away, and then he hollered for another man to come forward. "Nida!"

Nida was quite a bit shorter than both the Khal and his second man, with a shorter braid than the second and fewer scars too. He trotted over and thumped a fist to his breast-bone in salute.

"Khal says we make camp tonight." The second said, tossing his apple core aside and reaching for another from the tree. "Go to the village; find some more food for the horses and bladders for water. If they want coins send them to me."

Nida nodded and – when the second had walked away – trotted off to carry out his task. The Horse Lords had no coins to trade for food or bladders, so the villagers would have to accept swords instead. And if they did not want swords, then they could accept protection. It would mean that they would never be paid for their wares, but as long as they kept providing the Horse Lords with food and water and produce, they could call for help at any time and they would – under the laws of the Old Gods – be under the Horse Lord's protection, a part of the herd if you will.

* * *

Nida returned at night with a cart full of hay, sacks of oats and a heap of bladders, as many as he could find in the hamlet. The Khal seemed quite pleased with him as others began to unload the feed and he sidled up to inspect the wares.

"Did they want coins?" He asked, dipping his hand into a sack of oats, letting the grains run between his fingers.

"No, Khal, only that we let them live in the war."

"Did you agree?"

"Yes-"

"Why?" The Khal was looking at him, piercing him with green eyes that were extremely unusual among their people. Green eyes were a symbol of beauty to some, weakness to others, but to him and the warriors of this herd, they meant fear and power. It was fear they filled him with now.

"I, err," He cleared his throat. It wasn't too long ago that the Khal had spared his life in a battle and taken him into his herd. This would be far too early to disappoint him. "Thought they would not matter. It would not be hard to ignore one small village; there are hardly 40 people here, nothing to threaten us."

"But you disobeyed orders." Piercing again... Sometimes he wondered how someone who was so obviously foreign – he had palomino hair and light eyes, fine eyebrows and an Eastern twang in his accent – could become such a Khal.

"I'm sorry."

The piercing stopped as the Khal shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a half smile. "You know," he said, putting a hand on Nida's shoulder, "You're one of the only men I have met who does not lie when he says that." Nida blinked in surprise and a little bit of bashfulness. "Now go, get some rest, some wine in you, get you in a girl perhaps. We have a long ride ahead of us."

Hurried along by a hearty slap on the back from his Khal, Nida disappeared to do as was suggested – it had been an awful long ride after all and if there was one thing he was hungry for it was a good pint of red wine and then maybe after that a good fuck.

The Khal walked off to find his own supper – some horse meat perhaps, with some wild water cress someone had found upstream, cooked in butter and wine with a potato or two – then a decent bed, he was far too tired for fucking anyone and much too hungry to consider anything other than hunting for supper. He was joined on his way to the cooking pot by his second. They hadn't really bothered unpacking anything, they were mostly warriors here and were used to sleeping on the hard ground, only the cooking wagon had been set up and some awnings to shelter the tack. The horses were hobbled, then allowed to roam; in this heat they were unlikely to go very far.

"Food smells good."

"Yes."

"The herd is having fun."

"Make sure they don't attack the village."

"Why?"

"Nida gave them our protection."

"I thought I told him to come to me." The second muttered, looking a little put out. The Khal cracked a grin, the big man was extremely capable and disliked being let down or ignored or disobeyed, but he displayed his displeasure in the strangest of fashions, sometimes rather childish fashions. It was quite likely that Nida would find a few potatoes being flung his way, or even have his girl swiped from under his nose, anything was possible.

"He says he's sorry."

A snort of derision. "Not yet he isn't. That smells so good! I can smell elephant!"

The Khal rolled his eyes. 'Elephant' was what the Horse Lords called garlic. It had been a foreign thing to them before he wanted to eat some. The horses didn't like to eat it so the people had always thought it poisonous, so when he introduced them to Elephant Garlic (A/N: It's a really big type of garlic... Fist sort of sized actually...) they used the word elephant for every type of garlic. This was amusing, so he had no mind to correct any of them.

They strolled up to the pot and were presented immediately with bowlfuls of horse and elephant stew, steaming and smelling delicious. They sat down by the cook's fire to eat.

* * *

Edea was already awake and moody when the knock came on the door. It was barely sun up and yet the call of duty was unabated. She watched with intense satisfaction and malicious glee as Caraway stumbled grumbling from his bed and over to the door, ripping it open with a growl to reveal a squire behind it. The squire flinched and scrapped a bow under Caraway's glare. "Your grace, I have been asked to inform you by the head of the-"

"Shut up with the pomp and just get on with it." Caraway snarled. He was _not_ under any circumstances a morning person.

"There's dust on the horizon."

There were a couple of seconds where some mulling over was obviously being done – it was only just sun up after all and far too early for these sorts of complicated thinking exercises – before Caraway marched quickly from the room, bowling the squire over and disappearing at what was very nearly a run – Hyne forbid – down the corridor.

The squire scrambled to his feet and – scraping a hurried bow to Edea – chased after his King.

Well that was that then, Edea thought as she got out of bed and went to begin dressing, the Horse Lords were coming and – if their dust trail could be seen already – they were very nearly here, they might even arrive within the day. The two princesses would be mightily unhappy to hear about that, it meant their freedom and their childhoods were coming to an end. Still, life was life and you had to grow up at some point, sometimes the sooner the better; the longer you lived thinking all was a dream, the harder it was to accept reality. Princess Quistis was probably already talking herself up to the idea of marrying a savage, telling herself she could survive somehow, by staying true to herself... But Princess Rinoa was another kettle of fish entirely, probably still harbouring some false hope that Daddy wouldn't sell her off because he loved her too much. Complete dog's bollocks really, King Caraway had never met anyone he loved as much as his own beard. His daughters were nothing in his eyes, but only one of them seemed to be able to see it.

She dressed in her new blue gown and plaited her hair down her back. She wore no jewellery because she had none and then left the room to find where Caraway had gotten to. When she found him, he was leaning out of a north-facing corridor window with a monocle stuffed into his eye, trying to get a clearer view of the dust clouds in the distance. The two Princesses were also with him, although only Quistis was dressed. Both Princesses had apprehensive looks on their faces and Rinoa was fiddling with the strings on her night-gown, asking her father for a 'go' with the monocle.

"But I want to see how far away they are!"

"Too far away, they need to be here quicker!"

"Let me see! I want a go!"

"Be _quiet_ Rinoa! I'm looking!"

"But I want to look!"

"Hyne damnit, Rinoa!" Caraway shouted, whirling round to glower at his daughter. She flinched, "I don't have time for your stupid, petty whining! My reign, an entire dynasty, is resting on a Tribe of savages currently steaming in this direction and I am going to have to meet them with some worthy payments! So grow up and stop snivelling, you little wretch. You're a Princess not a dog, stop whining!"

Rinoa looked like she was about to burst into tears and Quistis pulled her into a hug, glaring daggers at their father. Edea rolled her eyes; he'd never been a hit with the ladies. She but in before he could make his daughter any more upset. "How far away are they?"

"A day at the most," Caraway growled, still glowering at his daughters – although what exactly Quistis had done wrong was anyone's guess – "They should be here before nightfall at least."

"There should be accommodation ready."

"Yes, I know that." Caraway turned his gaze to Edea and his eyes narrowed. "I do not need the help of a washed-up old tavern wench to accommodate an army."

"I realise that," She said, carefully keeping her cool. "It was not an order; it was a reminder, to the corridor at large. Which raises another point," She gave him the once over, "You're still in your pyjamas, Your Grace."

His anger evaporated as he looked down at his appearance and he chuckled. So he was, well if this wasn't a sight to behold, he was only wearing one of his bed-socks too and his nightcap had fallen down over one ear at some point in the night giving him the appearance of a lop-sided cup-cake. Well, well, well, what a funny sight he must be.

"Yes, well," He cleared his throat, "Rinoa, go and get dressed and Quistis get changed, I will have new clothes brought to the both of you-" he nodded to Edea for those "-and then the pair of you must come to the throne room immediately afterwards. Wait for me there."

Quistis nodded and began down the corridor, not at all unhappy about having to leave her father's presence, and dragging her sister with her.

Caraway turned to Edea, seizing hold of the front of her dress and dragging her up until they were practically nose to nose. He was a big man if he stood straight and even dwarfed the lanky squire, who was watching the situation backed up against the wall, clearing surmising that – with the way things were going – he was next in line for a good beating.

"Look you, whore," Caraway hissed, "You do not command me. You do not remind me. You do not suggest to me and you do _not_ interrupt me. I know what I am doing and you know what you're good for." There was a pause before he shook her. "Well?"

"Warming your bed, Your Grace." She said, gripping his hands. She felt her feet being lifted off the floor.

"Exactly, warming my bed. Not running my country." He spat, eyes narrowing in his face until they were barely more than slits in his face. "Retrieve the girls' clothing from the seamstress and then return to your chambers."

She swallowed thickly. Apparently she had been too brazen in her rescue of the Princesses' feelings; she had earned herself a punishment this time and by the looks of things, she wasn't going to enjoy this.

* * *

"Is this _really_ what he wants me to wear?" Quistis asked, apprehensively. Edea nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Quistis picked the dress up gingerly by the shoulder straps and held it up. Would this cover _any_ of her chest? She highly doubted it. And the way it was designed made it impossible to wear a corset, or even a plain old shift underneath it. It was the flowy sort of material worn by the belly-dancers on the southern-most Centran coast; a light green at the top, fading into dark green at the bottom, loose woven-gold straps around her upper arms and a woven-gold belt balancing on her hips would supposedly keep the dress up, but she doubted that too. And to make matters even worse, there was a diamond cut out of the middle of it! She'd look like she'd lost her way on the road to a brothel!

She threw it down on her bed and folded her arms, glaring at it, willing it to burst into flames or just disappear. It didn't. Would the King mind if she wore something else? Almost certainly. He was in quite a bad mood as well this morning, Rinoa saw to that to there would be not reasoning with him. Hmm... She wondered what Rinoa's dress would look like. She hoped – for Rinoa's sake – that it was a little less showy-offy than hers. Well it couldn't be much worse! She sighed and picked it up again, walking to her mirror and holding it up against herself. She saw no way that it would stay up with all that gold all over it, but hey, it was only her reputation at stake...

* * *

Rinoa twirled in a circle in front of her mirror, checking to see it the skirt would fan up and giggling when it did. It was a dark blue circular skirt with white embroidery along the hem and a white rope belt with little beads of white gold studded with diamonds weaved throughout. The body of it was also dark blue and studded with beads. The straps were made of the same fabric as the rest of the dress and fell across her shoulders softly, exposing her collar bones, but at the same time preserving her honour. She pushed her breasts up with her hands and turned this way and that to see them from every possible angle. Normally she thought they were too small, tiny even, but this dress had some specially engineered scaffolding in it that hoisted them up and actually – if she didn't say so herself – made them look quite... Perky.

Quistis burst through the door just as Rinoa finished another spin in front of the mirror, her skirt flying up.

"Rinoa!" Quistis wailed, making Rinoa – who had thought the person charging into her room might possibly be a love struck palace guard eager to see her in her underwear – shriek and grab at her skirts. "I look like a whore!"

"What are you wearing?!"

"Why does yours look nice?!"

"You're not really going to wear that are you?!"

"I feel besmirched!"

"Tell me that's the underwear..."

"Can we swap?!"

"No!"

"But I look ridiculous!"

"Then so would I!"

"No but you're sweet, they'd forgive you!"

"Really?"

"How come your boobs look bigger?"

"Why aren't your boobs falling out?"

"They're falling out?!" A tussle with her dress.

"No, why aren't they?"

"I don't knoooooow!" Quistis wailed and fell to her knees, clutching at her partially exposed chest and looking miserably up at her sister. Her expression turned from upset to pissed off in the blink of an eye. She got to her feet and pounded a fist into her palm. "I don't think I should have to do this."

"Well at least you look pretty." Rinoa mused, tapping a finger on her chin and giving Quistis the once over.

Quistis raised an eyebrow and returned the once over. "_I_ look pretty? You look bloody gorgeous, Rinoa."

"Well yeah, I know," Rinoa preened under the compliment, "But your dress is pretty even if _you_ don't like it."

Quistis rolled her eyes and turned round. Rinoa gasped, "It's backless..."

"I knooow." Quistis whined, turning back around and burying her face in her hands, "What the hell is your father trying to do? I'm preeeeetty sure this Lord Almasy has all the pick of all the whores he could ever want, I'm pretty sure he doesn't want another one."

"Oh, Quisty," Rinoa pulled her older sister into a hug, "You're not a whore. You're a Princess, _I'm_ pretty sure Lord Almasy doesn't have very many of _those_ to choose from, it'll be alright. I'm sure he'll still like you."

Quistis took her hands from her face and gave her sister a deadpanned look. "I rather think you're missing the point."

"Oh?"

"I don't want Lord Almasy to like me because it's _him_, I just want him to marry me so I don't have to deal with Ser Deling."

"Oh... We should probably go to the throne room now, Dad'll be waiting."

"Oh Hyne he will won't he..." Quistis heaved a sigh and turned her gaze heavenwards, praying to whatever deities be out there that this whole terrible ordeal be over soon.

* * *

Edea returned to her chambers to find Caraway already there waiting for her. She shut the door behind her with a soft _click!_ He was expressionless as she came fully into the room, standing by the bed and waiting silently for him to speak, but he didn't. He crossed the room in barely a few strides and seized her, pulling the dress off her shoulders and shoving her back onto the bed and grabbing at her skirt. The dress tore as he pulled it down and Edea snarled angrily, "I like this dress, you're ruining it."

He stopped pulling and when she raised her head to see what he was doing, he back-handed her across the face. She tumbled off the bed and hit her head on the stone floor. Her world spun. He dropped to his knees over her and tore the front of her dress open.

"You dared to scold me in front of my daughters." He growled, his voice holding a tone she hadn't heard in nearly 12 years. Oh boy, oh boy, she had really made him angry this time. This was going to hurt. "Dared to act as though you are my equal!? I am the King!"

"And I am a Queen." She breathed, trying through the watery feeling in her head to focus her eyes on his face. He slugged her across the face, splitting her lip and spilling blood down her chin, before turning her over onto her belly and grabbing the back of her neck, forcing her hard onto the cold stone floor.

"Not any more you're not." He spat, shoving harder at her neck, twisting it viciously until she cried out in pain. "I am the King of Galbadia. I hold the axe above your head and with one blow I can know your pretty little head clean off."

She spluttered and tried to turn her face to the side in an effort to breathe. He let go of her neck and started to tear at the strings of her corset, pulling the thing out wide before turning to her underwear. He pulled at those until the seams burst around her skin, leaving angry red marks on her hips. He grabbed her neck again and leant down to whisper in her ear, his haggard breath blowing her hair across her eyes.

"This will be slow." He hissed, "This will be painful. You will not enjoy this and you will never forget it."

Then he took her on the cold stone floor, pounding hard enough to bruise, gripping hard enough to bruise, all the while her head spun and spun.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ There we go, that wasn't so bad was it? I hope it wasn't too graphic, I tried to tone it down for those people out there who get all sniffy when writers write this kind of stuff into their stories; "It's too graphic!", "You've ruined a good chapter!", "This is disrespectful to the people who actually have to go through this kind of thing!". Blah blah blah... TBH I don't care if you think it's disrespectful, if we can't wirte about it, we'll never be able to get over it, will we.

So, please write a review and tell me what you thought about that, favourite bits, most hated bits (although if you hate the rape for any of the above reasons, please don't bother or find something else to write about, thanks). It's not even hard anymore people, the review box is on the same window! It's rght down there! Look, look, right underneath this, write in that little box down there vvvvvvvvvv , it would be much appreciated, thank you.

Next time on Game of Thrones: The Horse Lords arrive!

-Iets.


	7. The Horse Lords Arrive

**_A/N:_**These things are going to get longer, because I find it easier to deal with continuity if the chapters are longer. It just makes it much simpler to follow and harder to fuck up xD

Anywho, please enjoy this Chapter of Game of Thrones!

* * *

Chapter 6 – The Horse Lords arrive.

"I'm scared." Rinoa muttered. It was early evening, the sun was just getting towards the horizon and the two girls were sat in one of the Palace libraries, Rinoa embroidering a cushion and Quistis pouring over an old book. She had a sheet spread over her lap to protect her dress from the dust.  
"Why?" Quistis asked quietly, most of her attention on her book.

"What if they're horrible?"

"Who?"

"The Horse Men."

"There's nothing we can do about it if they are."

"But what if they're violent?"

"Most men are."

"Prince Leonhart's not."

"Oh, sorry, Prince Charming can be excused."

"Quisty!" Rinoa whined, stabbing her needling into her pillow and looking at her sister. "You're not concentrating on me! I'm talking to you!"

"Sorry." Quistis sighed, looking up and shutting her book on her finger. "You were saying?"

"What if they're violent? We might get hurt."

"There's really nothing we can do about it if they are, you know. Most women have to deal with violent behaviour on a daily basis; I don't think we'd be getting any help."

Rinoa looked thoughtful and said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard, "What if they don't speak our language? I don't think I could survive without someone to talk to who would understand me..."

"They speak the Tongue," Quistis said, "Or Taal in their native language, but I should imagine most also speak the Common Tongue too."

"What's the difference?" Rinoa asked quietly, stabbing at her cushion.

"Taal is the oldest version of the all the Tongues used today and is said to have originated from beyond the Narrow Sea. The Common Tongue is derived from Old Balambian and is only spoken by most of the world because of the Balambian conquest 700 years ago."

Rinoa frowned, "How do you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, up until a few minutes ago you didn't know any more about the Horse Men than I do."

Quistis held up the cover of her book and Rinoa cocked her head sideways to read the title; 'Vaes N' Taal'.

"Where did you find that?!" Rinoa dropped her cushion and hurried over next to Quistis, who opened the book to the page she'd been reading so intently. The pages were yellowed from age and dog-eared, sporting a few ink blots here and there, but they were covered in tiny writing, going down in columns, three per page. There were intricate pictures too, diagrams and images, maps and charts, even a table of various Khals and their territories, although it was extremely out of date.

"It was on a shelf over there," she waved to the back of the library, "I was looking for something that might be interesting to read and I found this. I've been reading it ever since the King said we had to get married to one of them."

Rinoa went to grab her chair and pulled it up so she could also read the book. The page they were looking at at the minute was about Horse Lord marriage ceremonies. Rinoa began to read aloud;

"The marriage of a great Khal is a very important affair in Vaes culture..."

"I'm guessing that's what the Horse Lords are calling themselves in their own language."

"Oh, okay. The celebrations can last for as long as three weeks! Gods, that's such a long time! But the ceremony will only last a maximum of one day. Events such as feasting and dancing show off the skills of the Khalisaar as the more food they can afford or the better the dancing gains them respect among other Khalisaars. The Khalisaar's men often fight at weddings because it is a chance to attract their own prospective wives when all the women are gathered. A Vaes man can have up to 6 wives! Oh my Hyne... But the Khal will only ever choose one wife."

Rinoa looked up to meet Quistis' gaze. They seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Rinoa swallowed thickly, "Does father know?"

"I don't think so," Quistis whispered, then looked back at the book. "I've been trying to find anything that might suggest a pattern for Khals choosing their wives, but it's all extremely complicated. One bit of the book says the Khal chooses based on what he wants the wife for and another part says the prospective wife chooses the Khal."

"So which is it?"

"I have no idea."

Rinoa sat back in her chair, draping her arms over the edges and sticking her feet out in front of her. The day was absolutely boiling and she was absolutely exhausted from trying to look pretty ad elegant all the time – their father had told them earlier this morning that they had to be graceful and exotic-looking for when the Horse Lords arrived – now the last thing she wanted to consider was that she might not even need to be trying so hard in the first place. "Why does it matter? He'll pick one of us himself, I'm sure."

"Because I sure as hell don't want to marry Ser Deling, so I want this Khal to pick me. And I thought you wanted to marry Prince Charming."

"Oh, I do," Rinoa admitted, staring at her feet – which she'd stuffed into a pair of sandals on the premise that they would complete her 'look' but were actually a few sizes too small for her – and wiggling her toes, "But if I have to pick my nose in public and act like a chimpanzee just to get to him, I'm not sure I'm going to bother. My feet hurt."

"I don't think acting like an animal and displaying poor personal hygiene would help you out much, these people consider a wedding without at least three deaths to be a dull affair."

"Then what do you propose I do?"

"I don't know yet, that's why I'm reading this book."

Rinoa sighed and watched her toes wiggling. Quistis read on in silence. Quistis had always been the bookish one, always pouring over some boring old tome or another, while Rinoa only ever read romance novels. Quistis was worried that they were filling her head with unrealistic expectations, but Rinoa _knew_ that life was a bitch, hell; her old man had her mother's head cut off! If that didn't spell it out loud and clear then nothing else did and if she was being entirely honest, Rinoa didn't really want to face reality if it meant facing things like that. She was lucky enough – if the thought could even be brokered – to have no memories of her mother at all, Caraway had had her beheaded soon after Rinoa's birth, but it didn't mean she didn't miss having someone there while she was growing up. She only really had Quistis around for guidance – and she was far bossy enough to fill the role – but it wasn't the same, it just wasn't the same...

"I'm going to miss you." She said, glancing over at Quistis. "When we're separated."

"I'll miss you too, I think." Quistis said and flashed a grin at Rinoa's slightly peeved expression. "But hey, there's nothing to say we'll be separated, you never know, you may end up being a gift to the Khal's brother or something."

"Does he have a brother?"

"I dunno, maybe."

Rinoa sighed again and went back to toe-staring. A few minutes later there came a knock on the door. A servant entered looking rather harried, as though he had been running quickly and bowed sloppily before announcing in a pant, "Your Royal Highnesses, the King requests your presence in the Throne room, pending the arrival of your future husband."

"Oh bloody hell," Quistis groaned quietly, snapping the book shut and wrapping it in the sheet on her lap before dumping it on the table in front of her and getting up to dust herself off, "I'd almost forgotten about that."

"What, the husband fiasco?" Rinoa asked, struggling to believe that.

"Not that as such, just what the time was and the fact that we would be seeing them sooner rather than later." Quistis grumbled, fiddling around with her hair and trying to pull the neckline of her dress up to cover a bit more of her chest. She wasn't small at all; she just didn't like having them 'on show'. Rinoa on the other hand seemed to be trying to expose more of her chest as she hobbled towards the door. Quistis rolled her eyes and stepped up to grab one of Rinoa's arms, signalling for the servant to grab the other and they would haul her down to the Throne room between them, since she'd opted for such insensible footwear.

They put Rinoa down again outside the Throne room and the two girls finished hurriedly fixing their appearances before walking regally through the double doors. Well Quistis walked regally, Rinoa limped as gracefully as she could, bending her knees to try and disguise her uneven movements beneath her dress. They kept their eyes politely on the floor until they had reached their fathers throne, but – when they looked up – they found there was nobody else there.

Caraway nodded in satisfaction to them, pleased they hadn't managed to ruin their outfits during the day. "Good, the Horse Lords should be here any second, so I want you both to stand on my right and to smile when they walk in; men always like a smiling young girl, and see if you can't blush when they look at you, they like that too."

Quistis tried not to gag as they took up their positions.

"So," Rinoa whispered beside her, "Did that book say anything about what we should do to look unattractive?"

"Nope, but apparently to call yourself accomplished when you have accomplished nothing is considered rude."

"Should I do that?"

"I don't think so, besides, how would you get that into the conversation? I'm not sure we're meant to talk to them at all tonight."

"Good point."

The double doors at the end of the room were pushed wide open by a couple of servants and a crowd of grubby, sweaty men filled the room.

* * *

He stank, he was tired, he was hungry, he was thirsty and already he was itching to get out of the city and into the countryside; the tall city building cut out too much of the sky here, made it too small. The rest of his men were feeling the same way he was sure and most of them had opted to be lead to their beds – in the stables as it happened, like animals – but a few had decided to go with him to the meeting place to meet this new King of Galbadia.

The man who had guided them inside spoke the Tongue rather well, his accent was a little funny and a few of the words he clearly didn't know so other less accurate words had been used in their stead, but for a native Galbadian he was doing quite well. He introduced them to the royal family and vice versa.

"Khal Caraway welcomes you to the Palace, he thinks you like what you have seen so far."

"I have, but tell him we are tired and wish to do business quickly."

It was translated and the answer returned, sounding somewhat surprised at the abruptness of this statement, "The Khal accepts. He says he wishes for your allegiance in a war against the Balambians and that payments for your trouble will be made accordingly."

He yawned openly – Gods, he just wanted to go to sleep, ignore the King and his wishful thinking, ignore the two rather attractive young women standing beside him and sleep, Hyne knew he'd ridden for 4 days straight now from dawn till dust, surely the King could give him the courtesy of a good 40 winks... – "Tell Caraway I have 400,000 men in my total command and they would potentially be available for his purchase, but I don't see any payments."

"The Khal says you shall have 3 carrotfuls of provisions-" He pulled a face at the awful pronunciation, while some of the men at his back chuckled quietly. The translator trailed off. "What?"

"Carts. Not carrots; _carts_ of provisions."

"Ah, sorry," The translator apologised and blushed as the Khalisaar sniggered at his mistakes. "The err... The Khal says he'll pay you three _carts_ of provisions and his two daughters as wives to honour the Great Khal Seifer."

Seifer raised his eyebrow as the giggles behind him died out. So... Those two women up there were his, huh? Trouble was, by Vaes law he could only marry one of them and he couldn't use the other one as a whore or a slave because a) it would be breaking the honour of whichever one he chose to make his queen and b) they had not been gifted as slaves, but as wives. He turned his head to talk quietly to Raijin.

"Do you want a wife?"

Raijin shook his head vigorously. No, he most certainly did _not_ want a wife, nagging, whining things that needed attention and sparkling objects. Far too much trouble for so little reward. Besides, everyone knew that if a woman was going to sweep Raijin off his feet, they'd have to be an absolute Goddess and a tool-maker in one.

"So what do I do with the other one?"

"Replace her with something else? Change his payment, it would still count by our laws, as long as the replacement is worth the lives we might lose."

Hyne, this was turning out to be far more trouble than it had promised to be at the start. Seifer walked up the 7 steps that would bring him to the same level as the Princesses and looked closely at them both. He was pleased to find that he stood taller than the both of them – there was nothing really more off-putting than a woman who made him feel less like a man than he actually was – although the shorter girl with dark hair was perhaps a little too short for his liking, she must only have been 5ft 4inches at best, maybe even a little bit shorter. The taller girl was not that much shorter than his 6ft 1, she could have been anywhere between 5ft 8 and 5ft 10, but it was a much more reasonable height. He walked around them.

The dresses, he couldn't say much for. They looked expensive, yes, and they certainly gave him an excellent view, but if the girls were used to wearing this sort of thing day in and day out, then they would be sorely disappointed with the wardrobe he could offer them, it was far less auspicious that this.

"Do either of you read?" He asked, in the common tongue, rightly assuming that neither of them would speak the Taal. All four native common speakers in the room looked shocked at his language use; they had none of them expected him to be able to speak their language, apparently. A spiteful part of him hoped that they were embarrassed at not having asked before hand and assuming he wouldn't understand a _word_ they said. It was that sort of thinking that got them into the mess they were now in, having to ask for his help. Bashfulness at the least, please.

"Both of us." The shorter girl answered in a sugary sweet voice. Not too sweet, but it gave the impression that she was living in a world of fluffy bunnies and roses. She was going to have a nasty shock when someone – and he might just be the one to do it – revealed to her that no, most of the world didn't shit glitter and no, not everyone could piss the rainbow.

She twittered on, "Quistis reads a lot more than I do, all this intellectual type of stuff about philanthropy and owl poo and-"

"It's philosophy," 'Quistis' corrected, sounding irritated, "And I have never read a book on owl poo, thank you very much, I'm not even sure there _is_ a book on owl poo."

"Oh there is," the dark haired one assured Quistis, "I've read it."

"So," Seifer interrupted, giving them half a smile and pointing between them, "You're Quistis and you like philosophy?" She nodded. "And you are?"

"Rinoa Heartily."

"And you like owl poo."

Quistis covered – unsuccessfully – a snort of laughter while Rinoa tried – also unsuccessfully – to silence the raucous laughter of the Khalisaar and salvage her reputation.

"No, no!" She pouted, "I like romance and rabbits, not owls. And I've studied the history of the Estharian blood lines. Oh!" She stuck up a finger, as though just remembering something. "And I've read a big book on Existenialism!"

"Existentialism?" Seifer asked, partly correcting her, partly questioning because he just couldn't believe it possible. For a girl to have just admitted she liked romance and bunnies, to switch to saying she'd read a book on existentialism... Seemed a bit suspicious.

"Well..." She shrugged, "I thumbed through it once."

So not read then. He nodded, "Which one of you is the Crown Princess?"

"Rinoa is." Caraway said, obviously trying to get a foot hold on the conversation again. Seifer had almost forgotten that it was unusual for young women to speak among royalty in these cultures. "Although Quistis is older she is a basterd child. Rinoa will have my throne when I am gone."

"Is that right?" Seifer muttered, more to himself than either of the girls in front of him, but Quistis nodded and hung her head, as though ashamed.

"Rinoa is my only child." Caraway continued, "I loved her mother very much. In fact I was-"

"I'm a basterd." Seifer interrupted, loudly. Caraway shut his mouth immediately, although his expression said he was more appalled at being interrupted than ashamed of his behaviour towards his other daughter. "It means nothing in the measure of character."

Quistis looked up, tentatively, at her father and Seifer saw something of the hatred he had harboured for all the people who never thought much of him in the past. He had shown them all up in the end, although he doubted anyone in this room knew of his past. Quistis was a beautiful girl, stunning in fact with lightly tanned skin, golden blonde hair, an hourglass figure and dark blue eyes, like a January evening sky... She didn't deserve the same sort of past as he had had. He hoped her existence was different.

He turned to caraway that had turned a little puce, but was gradually returning to his normal colour. "My men and I are tired; we have ridden a long way to get here. We will go to sleep now, find our own food in the morning and I will seek an audience with you tomorrow, late morning, early afternoon."

Knowing he needed to remain on Seifer's good side, Caraway could only nod his approval. Seifer turned back to Quistis, kneeling and taking her hand gently in his. He kissed her knuckles. "Good night, Quistis. I would like to see you tomorrow morning please."

She nodded silently, blushing and he stood up. She was _definitely_ not used to this sort of attention or his sort of request. He said his goodnight to Princess Rinoa as well, then left, dismissing the attention of the translator; it was far easier to find their way out than it would have been to find their way in. Raijin approached him.

"Did you see something you liked?"

He grinned, "Something. But I have not yet offered to alter the payment."

"Why not?"

"I'm going to talk to both the Princesses first; they seem far more amicable than their father, no?"

Raijin grinned and nodded, "He's good for laughs though. His face when you began in the common tongue was simply priceless; then I thought his head was going to pop!"

"Hey," Nida said, "He'd look a hell of a lot better for it!"

The Khalisaar laughed at the expense of the royal family as they wandered out into the night and the direction of the stables. Every one of them was glad the journey was over and they were going to get a good haul out of this alliance, if the prospective brides were anything to go by.

* * *

"I think he likes you!" Rinoa squealed, "He wants to see you tomorrow morning before he sees Daddy and everything!"

"I'm sure things are done differently in his culture," Quistis countered, trying to be conservative about it, "Seeing the payment before making the deal is probably perfectly normal behaviour."

The two girls were sat in Rinoa's room again, Rinoa stretched out on her bed with her feet in Quistis' lap while the older girl massaged them, soothing away the angry red marks left by the too-tight sandals – which had only minutes before been tossed into the bin. So far Rinoa had talked nonstop about how good looking 'Seifer' was, how gorgeous his accent was, how gentle he was with Quistis' hand and how confident he had been when dealing with 'Daddy'. Now she had moved onto his interaction with Quistis, what could it all mean and things like that. Quistis was beginning to find it all extremely tedious, but there were a few things she might agree had some merit to conversation.

"Where do you think he's from though?" She asked, smoothing her thumbs over the joints of Rinoa's toes. "He couldn't have been born into the Vaes culture, he would have had brown eyes otherwise, but his accent is all... Weird."

"It's gorgeous..." Rinoa sighed, throwing her arms above her head. "All silky and smooth, with a slight twang on some of the words."

"But it's not local... and it's not the common accent. He sounds nothing like any of the Balambians or Estharians I've ever met..."

"Who cares where he's from originally? All that matters is he's here now and we need to make him talk more!"

"Do you think he's from overseas?"

"Like where? Past the Narrow Sea?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think so, no one ever comes out of there, even the Horse Lords lose one or two every year." Rinoa sighed. "Oh Quisty... Can you imagine being married to a man like that?"

"Nope." Quistis replied, entirely honestly too. She pulled gently on each of Rinoa's toes, hearing the crack then moving onto the next. "I find it impossible to imagine being married to anyone."

"But he'd treat you so well! It would be like a dream!"

"Yeah, a dream. And what happens when you wake up or find it turning into a nightmare?"

"But it wouldn't, don't you see? With a man like him, he would love you forever!"

"Mhmm, obsessive stalking has never really struck me as a Mr Right sort of quality."

"But he's not a stalker, Quisty." Rinoa propped herself up on her elbows to see her older sister. "He's lovely."

"How can you be so certain?" Quistis asked, switching over to Rinoa's other foot and giving it the thumb treatment. "You've hardly spoken to the guy and even then he made fun of you."

"But he kissed the back of your hand!" Rinoa huffed. Clearly, in her eyes, Quistis just wasn't getting it. "Prince Leonhart has _never_ kissed the back of _my_ hand, and he's perfect!"

Quistis rolled her eyes. "So comparing the Khal to Prince Leonhart is meant to make him more of a 'catch' is it?"

"Just because _you_ got rejected." Rinoa pouted, then stuck her tongue out.

Quistis stopped massaging Rinoa's feet and stood up, putting her hands up in the air and shaking her head. "Fine," She said, heading for the door as Rinoa began to whine, "You obviously don't want help with your swollen feet, and I can't be bothered to sit here and listen to more of your drivel about love, peace and all that shit. So if your feet fall off in the night, or if someone suddenly bursts your bubble about Prince Perfect and his Perfectly Princely Polish, don't come crying to me to try and fix it, because I've tried once, you're being a selfish little child and I've got more important things to do than wait for you to shut up and breath ok?" She wrenched the door open. "Have a day off for pity's sake."

She strode across the hallway and into her room, slamming the door behind her and leaning on it, arms folded over her chest. She seethed inwardly. She _hated_ it when people brought up her failures and Rinoa seemed to make a sport out of her failure with Prince Leonhart. Personally, Quistis hated the fact that she'd actually thought him an attractive prospect at one point, and now it wasn't so much the fact that her feelings hadn't been returned, but it was the fact that she'd been rejected that really got her goat. _Rejected. Her,_ _rejected_. It was almost unheard of. Half the men in the land would give their left bollock to have some of her attention and the other half were either gay or blind. Or married but that didn't stop some of them. To have been rejected by someone was a big fat blot on her otherwise perfect record. Hell, it was almost worth _trying_ to attract this Khal guy just to prove she still had what it took! But of course that particular road ended in marriage this time, not simply affection or lust.

She shuddered and stepped away from the door, walking to her chaise-long and flopping down on it to stare out at the snow-capped mountains in the North... So, so far away.

* * *

Seifer groaned as the lactic acid began to build up in his muscles. All that riding his finally caught up to him and Hyne over Heaven was it burning. He shifted next to his horse in the straw and tried to scoop more bedding underneath himself, cushion some of the aching muscles. He settled back down with his head on his saddle, staring out of the stable at the night sky.

That was when he saw her, silhouetted in the window. He blinked. And blinked again. But the image didn't go away. She was definitely there and he'd know that outline anywhere. But it couldn't be... she had to be a ghost... He struggled to his hands and knees and crawled to the stable door, hauling himself up on his knees and looking out. He needed a better look.

The figure in the window held up a hand and waved slowly, back and forth. He hesitated. He had always been superstitious and the Vaes people avoided suspicious things like the plague – as a rule – so he was loath to wave back. But he did, slowly, raising his hand and giving a tiny shake from side to side. He knew she could see him, he was bathed in moonlight and starlight after all.

Putting down his hand, he half expected something horrible to happen, some ghoul to leap out of the darkness at him, an arrow to pierce his heart by her signal, a rush of cold wind as her ghost travelled through him to grapple with his soul and steal it from his body. But there was nothing. Not a whisper. Not a sniff. Nothing. He looked at his hand. Did he do it wrong? Was he meant to wave differently? What was supposed to happen when you waved to a ghost? He certainly didn't know and the more he considered it, the more he decided he really didn't want to find out.

By the time he'd looked back at the window again, the silhouette was gone. He swallowed thickly and struggled back to his bed, burrowing deep into the straw and tossing some of it over him, superstitious as he was he needed to be as close to the natural way of things as was possible... But...

She had to be a ghost... He was convincing himself, the more he said it in his head. There was no way it could be real. Queen Edea had been dead for 12 years. To see her now, here, must have been a work of Hyne. Or the old gods. They were trying to tell him something... Unless... No, he was being silly. But was her? Unless – he hardly dared himself to think – she wasn't dead. Just... Missing.

* * *

**_A/N:_** So! "What's the story in Seifer's past?" I hear you ask? "Where has Seifer seen Edea before?" I hear you say? "Why in hell isn't Raijin saying 'ya know' all the time?" I hear you complain? Well, all will be revealed next chapter.

**BUT!** The more important thing is this; decision time. It's time for you to decide who Seifer decides to pick to throw out of the package deal! Who does he want to marry? Who does he not like the look of? Quistis or Rinoa? Come on people, there won't be any more of this until someone makes the decisions :)

So, here's hoping you enjoyed reading, I hope it wasn't too long or too boring, please review with your favourite bit, your least favourite bit, the whole shebang xD

-Iets.


	8. Wicked Little Children Do Wicked Things

_**A/N:**_ Right, sorry about the delay, I was watching the olympics xD Who enjoyed it? I know I did, was born in London and boy oh boy am I glad it's had a bit of a make-over :D Looked great :D

This chapter needed to be written to get the history of the plot off the ground, it all plays an important part in Seifer's and Edea's character development in later chapters so bear with it :)

Enjoy...

* * *

Chapter 7 – Wicked Little Children Do Wicked Wicked Things.

"Have you heard the news?"

"News? What news?"

"The news about Lady Baratheon?"

"No, what of her?"

"She is to be wedded to the King of Balamb, Cid Kramer!"

"Is that so?"

"Or so they say... And she is said to travel through this village on her way to meet him!"

"_This_ village?"

"Yes!"

"Through Cranford?"

"The very same!"

"Whatever will she think of it?"

"I'm sure I've no idea, these great Ladies are never the same."

The talk stopped when they saw him and the two twittering old women stood very still. He regarded them openly, with a plain distaste. They stared back, a mixture of disgust and fear on their faces. He took a step into the room – they backed away to the fireplace, one woman even checking the location of the fire poker, should she need to use it – and put on his best and most charming smile.

"Did I overhear you talking about Lady Edea of house Baratheon?" He asked, clasping his hands behind him and touching his heels together, doing his best impression of a model child, as he had observed other children doing so in the village. The two women exchanged glances. Apparently they were not apt to answer him.

He smiled and tried again. "Who were you talking about, Ladies?"

"It is none of your business who we're talking about, wretch." One of the women – the one brandishing the fire poker – said loudly. "Now get out before I call a man!"

He stood there for a moment longer, watching them with the fire poker, and narrowed his eyes – a dangerous sign. Both old women held their breath, but he did nothing to them, simply turned and left. His booted feet splashed through the puddles in the road until he came to a curb and he mounted it, walking along it and balancing himself by waving his arms wildly. He was incredibly angry inside, this 9 year old child, and the next person to get in his way was going to suffer, most likely.

He crossed the street and ducked down an alley-way. Around halfway down the alley-way was a boy a little older than him, 11 maybe, playing with a load of pebbles and a wooden cup. The 11 year old's eyes widened as the 9 year old approached him and he stood up, trying to make himself seem taller, but the 9 year old was quite tall for his age and he easily matched the other boy's height. He was well built too, strong already for so young an age and he was tough to handle even for the men of Cranford.

"Give them to me." He said, perfectly calmly, although his eyes betrayed his foul mood; they were always a brighter shade of green the worse his composure.

"No," the other boy said and attempted to add "They're mine." But he didn't get a chance before he was slammed against the alley wall, the 9 year old's grip on his throat stifling. He gagged.

"Give them to me," The 9 year old hissed, bringing his face so close to the other boy's that their noses were almost touching, "because I want them."

The boy wheezed something unintelligible and tried in vain to kick the 9 year old's shins. He received a bite on the ear for his troubles. He gargled in pain as blood began dribbling down the side of his face and the 9 year old shook him viciously, cracking his head against the wall. He dropped his cup and pebbles when the fingers around his throat tightened and the fingernails dug half-moons into his skin while he struggled to loosen their grip. The 9 year old spat blood out onto his shirt, before tossing him unceremoniously to the floor.

"They're mine, Almasy." The other boy wheezed, coughing and choking as Almasy collected up the cup and pebbles, pocketing them in his stolen waistcoat. Almasy put a boot to the other boy's chest and pushed him into his back. He continued to press until he was almost stood on him, then bent down so they were close again and stuck his tongue out between bloodied teeth.

"Not anymore."

It was some days later that Lady Baratheon passed through Cranford, but she did much more than simply pass through, she stopped to water her horses in the river. The little village was delighted to have her there, but one among them was not. Almasy viewed her carriage from the side of the crowd; no one really minded his presence today it seemed because in the face of things, he was not important.

He scowled. The sort of power that was gained from fear was only partial power. If the people he was attempting to control weren't there, weren't in fear of him in that moment, then there was no controlling them at all. And today, the villagers weren't concentrating on him; they weren't in fear of him. He was powerless for the first time in a long time because of Lady Edea Baratheon.

The train of guards, carts of supplies and carriages full of ladies in waiting passed by in a thin line, so close that some of the women handed a few of the guards bunches of flowers. They would probably get thrown away some 20 meters down the road, but it was keeping most people distracted. This was a good thing for Almasy. He walked back long the line of people until he saw what he assumed to be Lady Baratheon's carriage and began to trot alongside it. It was originally an open cart, but wooden struts had been put up and fabric stretched between them for the walls and ceiling, closing Lady Baratheon off to the world. But by the looks of it, they were only tied in place by thin ribbons. He untied a few of them as he ran and shoved his head and shoulders underneath the fabric, scrabbling around for something to grab onto to haul himself up and inside.

Purchase came in the form of a hand and then, instead of hauling himself up, he was _being_ hauled up. By none other than Lady Edea Baratheon herself! She gave him a stern looking over. He scowled. He didn't know quite what she was examining so closely, he was impeccably dressed, far better dressed than any of the sorry bums cheering outside. Of course his clothing was all afforded at their expense, but Lady Baratheon presumably didn't know that, so there was no need for her to squint at him so much. Unless...

"Do you need some glasses?" He asked, politely. It was important to always be polite in front of a lady, even if you planned to rob or murder them later his father had always said. Or at least that was what his mother had told him he always said, before she died that is...

Lady Edea raised a dark, elegant eyebrow at the suggestion. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a pair of spectacles. The other brow rose to meet the first as she regarded the spectacles instead. She took them from his hand and turned them over. "Where did you get a pair of these?" She asked in a sweet Centran accent. "They're very rare. Do you need them?"

"I stole them." He said, arranging himself so he sat cross-legged on the floor of her carriage. She looked from the glasses to him, surprised. He was looking at her with big round green eyes that begged she believe them innocent, but which held a coldness about them, as though the innocence was only on the surface. The fact that he was so open about his theft sent a chill through her.

"Stealing is wrong." She said, hoping that maybe it was just a lack of personal knowledge which sanctioned his behaviour. Sadly it was not.

"I know it's wrong, but so is killing people and taking their homes, setting people on fire and watching them burn. But I'll bet there are people you know who've killed in the past, raped too probably. Stealing is a minor fault of mine."

She frowned. He was clearly intelligent, he knew of the badness the world had to offer, knew of the suffering that most men caused and left in their wake. But did he understand? She hoped not. This stealing... "Minor, fault?"

"Yes."

"How minor?"

"No lives have been lost because of a missing pair of glasses, no lives have been lost because of a missing cup of pebbles, no lives have been lost because of the action of my theft. It is minor in comparison with other crimes."

"That you've committed?"

"Does that matter?"

He spoke like an adult. He was frightening. In a few moments, she had gone from considering this young boy to be quite brave and outgoing – to creep into _her_ tent or carriage certainly took a lot of courage – to considering him to be far too intelligent and grown up for his own good. Far too grown up to be _holy_.

"Who are you?" She asked, forcing her tone to be cold in the presence of the unholy child. His expression turned from open and vaguely interested, to closed, cold and reactionary.

"Why?"

"I wish to know who you are, child. Do you want me to put an arrow through you? I have plenty of willing archers at my beck and call."

She saw his hand creep towards a cushion in the carriage – obviously he was going to silence her if she so much as squeaked – and he whispered very quietly:

"Lapin Noir."

* * *

Edea awoke early. The sun was barely over the horizon, but she couldn't sleep, not after having seen him alive. It was such a shock, she'd thought him to be dead. She thought he'd died 12 years ago, but here he was, alive, clear as day, sleeping in the stables below her window. It had taken her a good long time to get to sleep in the end. It was pitch black outside by the time she managed it, so there had been no point in staring at him any longer.

She got out of bed and went to the window to see if he was still sleeping, but saw his stable housed only his horse. The Horse Lords were early risers apparently. She combed a hand through her hair as she thought of what she was going to do. One thing was certain, she had to see him today, quickly. But what would she wear? And how would she disguise the bruise on her temple? Did it matter? Would he care?

She didn't know so she quickly grabbed a worn old green dress from her wardrobe and pulled it on. She scraped her hair back into a bun and shoved her feet into some shoes before checking Caraway was still asleep – he was – and slipping out of the room. She didn't have the first idea of where to look for him, so she spent a little while just wandering around, hoping she would bump into him. It was only when she was walking along a corridor that opened out into cloisters overlooking the throne room and banquet hall that she saw him, exiting the hall. Hoping to catch him, she hurried to the stairs at the end of the corridor and descended them as quickly as she could. She nearly crashed right into him at the bottom.

"Sorry." He apologised in a rich accent, a mixture of Centran and Vaes, and grabbed her arm to steady her as she came down the last few stairs as break-neck pace. But the second he saw who it was, he dropped her as though scolded and leapt back.

She held her breath as he looked at her, green eyes holding confusion, hope and a disbelieving streak a mile wide. "It's me, Lapin." She said quietly, as though afraid that if she spoke too loudly, he might disappear in a puff of smoke, "Edea..."

"Edea..." He repeated slowly and swallowed. He swept a bow low to the floor, his armour clinking quietly as he touched his knee to the floor and ducked his head. "My Lady."

She smiled, but hid it quickly as he stood back up again. He was different from how she remembered him, much taller with broader shoulders and more muscle on him, but those changes were only to be expected the intervening years would have seen him to the age of 24, if she wasn't much mistaken. His hair was a lot longer too, falling all over the place in waves, he had obviously washed it recently, this morning probably, but it still needed a cut. She wanted to feel it, see if it's consistency was any different.

"I don't use that name anymore, My Lady." He said, his tone not as relaxed as she would have liked, "I go by the name of Seifer Almasy nowadays."

"Of course," she gave him a small smile, which he did not return, "I hadn't heard any word of the Black Rabbit for nearly 12 years. I had assumed you were dead."

"Not dead," He replied, resting on hand on his hip and the other on the hilt of his sword. "Just missing. Like you, My Lady, although how nobody has found you here is beyond my comprehension." He narrowed his eyes. Ahh, so that was the problem.

"You suspect me of infidelity." She stated and he raised an eyebrow. Of course he did. "But I'm not here by choice, Seifer." She wrinkled her nose at the name; she liked Lapin far better, even if he didn't. "I am a prisoner here and I have been since my kidnap 12 years ago."

He narrowed his eyes, "Give me the evidence and maybe I'll hear you out, My Lady."

She thought... Evidence? Well there wasn't really very much evidence, she was largely untouched by...! She turned her head to exhibit the bruise on her temple – in her haste and excitement to find him, she had almost forgotten about it, well thank heavens she hadn't covered it up with make-up or something.

He gave it a quick glance and sighed, reaching out to touch it, stroking her head softly. "You don't look any different from when we first met..."

"You do."

"I know. A lot has happened since then. Everyone thinks you're dead."

"Don't they think you're dead too?"

"Yes, but only because I was a kid with a different name when I 'died', now I'm a Khal with a new name and I look extremely different... I'll admit it's hard to believe you don't want to be here."

She cast her eyes down. "I know, I think that was the King's intention. Besides, I've learnt when to shut up and I'm not afraid of him so there's not point in hurting me."

"Cid won't believe it either."

She felt tears sting her eyes at the thought. If even Seifer thought her husband would never forgive her, then it must be the case. He was always a sparkling judge of character. "I know." She croaked, voice breaking.

He took his hand back and rested in once more on his sword hilt, looking her over with those truthful green eyes, taking in her state of her after 12 years and probably comparing her to the young woman he had met 12 years earlier. She wondered if he liked what he saw...

* * *

_**A/N:**_ So, the verdict is? Did you like it? What do you think that last line meant? Did it mean anything at all? Are we going to have some creepy paedophilic references somewhere in here? So many questions! Although I'll give you a hand with the last one, the answer is no. No paedophilia, I don't have a problem with writing about it, I just don't wanna write it for Seifer's part because I love him too much and don't wanna ruin him for myself in my own mind... :\ would kinda take something out of it, ya know?

Next time: Seifer meets Quistis for a little chat and has to decide A) which of the two princesses he's going to choose to marry and B) what in the hell is he going to do with the other one? Also, where has Raijin got to I wonder?

-Iets


	9. Marry Me

**_A/N:_ **Well, if you can't tell what happens in this chapter from the title, then I consider you to be an idiot. Just sayin' ;) Anyway, the outcome of this chapter was decided by the reviewers, granted there were only 2 reviews pertaining to the outcome of this chapter, but they were enough.

I apologise for the wait, but I recently moved home (to Dundee) for my University! Yay! Whoop whoop! I passed my exans! *phew* I was so scared I wouldn't, but no need to worry any more, the fiction updates can return to a more reasonable timetable now :) (Rejoice, rejoice).

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this latest chapter of Game of Thrones.

* * *

Chapter 8 – Marry Me.

Blue sky was punctuated by a few fluffy white clouds, drifting lazily between the tree canopies, disappearing from her sight every now and again. The long grass was soft under her and the ground was littered with flowers of every colour imaginable. But it was only to be expected of the palace grounds. Quistis often wondered if anyone from the outside world got to see so many beautiful colours or if they would recognise the colours if they saw them… If there was one thing she was going to miss about life inside the palace walls, it was going to be the colours. She looked down at the book in her lap and brushed a finger over its pages, wondering if she could take the book with her when she left. It was unlikely that anyone would find a use for it while she was gone, given that no one seemed to have read it in decades.

She had been doing a little thinking about what she wanted to take with her when she went, providing Seifer Almasy actually chose to marry her, and she couldn't decide whether or not to take her books on philosophy or Vaes 'n Taal. She began to read what was on the page in front of her, it was about the different roles of women in the Vaes community, something she thought was going to become increasingly important to know. The book seemed to suggest there were over 7 different roles for women including fighting, cooking, producing young, cleaning the yurt (the Vaes equivalent of accommodation), managing the men's horses, simple pleasure roles when the birthing wife was too pregnant to fulfil her role, and a nanny for the young while their mothers were off producing more children, but the wife of the Khal was only entitled to two of those roles, provided the Khal agreed to it. Luckily the only two roles the wife of the Khal was permitted to fill were producing children or fighting. Quistis knew exactly which role she wanted to play and it involved nothing in the region of popping out infants every nine months.

She hoped Seifer Almasy approved of her choice because the book said that the roles of each woman rarely ever crossed, which would mean she would be exempt from ever having to sleep with him or have his children, which was excellent as far as she was concerned. Her family had a bad history with birthing: her own mother had been so weak afterwards that she only survived a further 4 years and never really fully recovered any strength.

The book also said that as the effective Queen of whatever tribe, she wouldn't have to do any cooking or cleaning for herself, which was good because she had no idea how to cook Vaes food or how exactly to clean a yurt (according to the book there was a very specific way to clean a yurt). If she was asked to do so there would be no telling what kinds of trouble she would get herself into and another part of the book said that grave insults (such as feeding the Khal something disgusting) could be punishable by death. It had of course crossed her mind that getting herself killed might not be such a bad idea, as it would mean that her marriage to Seifer Almasy would be over relatively quickly, but then she had never planned on getting herself killed over something so mediocre as a slightly undercooked potato or something like it.

She was busily reading about the more detailed roles of a fighter or a birthing wife when a silky, accented voice above her head interrupted her. "What are you reading, Princess?"

She snapped the book shut quickly and looked up into the face of the very man she had been thinking about. "Nothing much, your Grace," She replied, putting the book aside and resting her hand over the title, "A bit of light reading for a summer's day. How may I help you?"

"I want to know about a woman in the King's company." He said, looking at her from under his lashes in an odd fashion. He hadn't even ducked his head to look at her, keeping his chin in an upright position and using only his eyes to watch her.

"A lady in the King's company?"

"I want to know what you know of her."

"Who is it?" She asked, struggling to keep the disappointment out of her voice. If he was beginning to look at another woman, there went her plans of avoiding a marriage to Ser Deling.

"She is close to the King, I think." He said, eyes flicking up to observe a line of men hefting armour and what looked like candles towards the stables. "Black hair, emerald eyes, an older lady, around 34 years of age-"

"Lady Edea?!" Quistis gasped, grabbing her book and rising to her feet, a disapproving frown on her face. He might have been from a different culture and he may be the Khal, but there were some things that even he would have to be taught, rules he would have to abide by! "She is the King's bedfellow! You can't court her!"

"Bedfellow?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes!" Quistis said, folding her arms over her chest, "And therefore very off-limits to you! She is not within your league! I'm sorry Khal Seifer, but you will have to pick someone else to marry."

"You are withdrawing your payment to me?" He asked, seeming surprised.

"She was never part of the contract!"

"What?"

"Lady Edea. You're not going to marry her, she's the King's."

"Huh?!" He pulled a face, "Why would I marry her? She's old enough to be my mother! I just wanted some information on her and thought you might give it!"

"Oh." Her frown began to smooth back out and she looked down sheepishly at her feet. "Sorry, I assumed you wanted to know more about her because you fancied her for a wife."

He gave a derisive snort and shook his head, resting his hands on his hip and sword hilt. "Somebody said you were intelligent."

"I am!" She growled, "I simply panicked, you cannot blame me."

They glared at each other for a moment or two before Seifer heaved a sigh and said softly, "Can you tell me when she arrived in this place?"

"Around 11 years ago, or maybe 12, I don't really remember."

"How is she treated in the Palace?"

"As well as is to be expected."

He narrowed his eyes at her. She still stood with her arms over her chest and one eyebrow raised in a defiant expression. "Why are you not answering me truthfully?"

"Had you behaved in a more gentleman like manner, I would be greater inclined to acquiesce to your requests." She replied. He wondered if she was trying to confuse him with long words. Unfortunately for her, the common tongue was his first language and he was perfectly well versed in long and complicated words to understand and return them, thank you very much.

"Then forgive me, fair princess, I had previously considered you above the vices of others to be so beset by jealousy that you failed to recognise the sheer absurdity of your accusations." He said, folding his arms in turn as the gentle approach was clearly not working. "The absence of any gentlemanly behaviour on my part could be said to be matched by a lack of decorum and sensibility of situation on your part. Don't you agree?"

She raised the other eyebrow, but continued to fight her course in a further elevated vocabulary than the last. "My decorum was in every right when one considers the brashness of your nature and your complete disregard for our customs. I was replying like for like and therefore do not consider it to be any fault of mine should my sensibility of situation have fallen below your mark. That you consider yourself able to demand I do anything for you is an absurdity in itself, your grace, thus, to call fault with any of my accusations smacks a little of the hypocrisy does it not?"

He rolled his eyes. "Are you going to tell me what I want to know? Or am I going to have to tarnish my image in your mind much further, Princess? Because I really don't have the time to be fussing over the sensibility of your situation, nor to be hypocritically redressing your opinion of me as a gentleman – which incidentally, I most certainly am not."

"No."

"No, what?"

"No I am not going to answer your questions until you ask them in a more polite way."

He took a deep breath, shut his eyes for a moment, then turned his gaze heaven wards and whispered "Mother, avert your eyes from what I am about to do."

Quistis frowned, but her confusion turned swiftly to surprise as she was barrelled suddenly down into the long grass, her book being sent flying from her arms and her hair being pulled from its bun as Seifer landed on top of her, grabbing for the arms that she flung out in self-defence and pinning them to the ground either side of her head. She screwed her eyes shut tight as he lent down over her, she could feel his breath on her skin and she turned her face to the side, just in case this was what she was sure it looked like to anyone else. His breath fanned against her neck and she shuddered.

* * *

Seifer frowned down at her neck as she shuddered and her lip started to quiver. He felt pretty lecherous doing this to such a beautiful creature, it felt a little like pulling the wings off a butterfly, but he really needed those answers. He dug deep inside himself, trying to unearth some of those long buried feelings to help him along: "Do you know who you're talking to like that, woman?"

No answer.

"Look at me."

She didn't. He let go of one hand and took hold of her chin, turning her face towards him, gripping her jaw tightly as she tried to wrestle it from his grasp. "You will look at me." He said quietly, maybe a little too softly to be convincing, but it was hard to be an arsehole again after so many years of _not_ being an arsehole. But it seemed quite easy for her to be bitchy towards him, so in theory this ought to be an easy feat for him as well. He wished.

"Open your eyes and goddamn _look _at me!" He hissed, squeezing her wrist and her jaw so that her wrist cracked and he felt the cartilage between her radius and ulna beginning to bend, but she didn't open her eyes, although tears of pan began to leak from the corners of her eyes.

* * *

She would _not_ give in to the pain. She would not give in to him if it was the last thing she did. It was important to let him know he could not control her with pain or fear, lest he tried it again in the future… But it was a hard ask simply to ignore the pain. She could feel her bones straining under his grip, her jaw would surely bear bruises by the end of the day, maybe even lunchtime and she would have to answer various questions, but it wasn't unbearable yet. She could hold out for a while longer.

He kissed her. Her eyes flew wide open and his grip on her wrist relaxed immediately. The sudden relief made her want to gasp for breath after having held and regulated it so carefully only moments before, but she couldn't because his mouth was on hers, teeth clashing against hers.

She was so surprised at first that she completely forgot how to act in the face of such a rough and personal assault, but as soon as her senses returned to her, the hand that had previously lain obediently on the grass beside her head buried itself in his hair, gripping a handful and pulling, trying to tear his head and lips away from hers.

* * *

He winced as she pulled at his hair, ripping a few strands out, but at least her eyes were open now and she was looking at him. He pulled his lips from hers and immediately her surprised expression descended into a frown.

"I am the Black Rabbit of Centra." He said, thinking – although the kiss was a rather unorthodox way of gaining attention and had severely disrupted the flow of the conversation – he may as well continue with what he was going to say, "Few people have ever denied me something I want and even fewer are forgiven. Do _not_ make me remember you as someone I despise because they would not give me some simple answers to some simple questions. I am a very busy person and if I do not get the answers I want now I will decline your father's offer and by the time you are attacked by the Balambians I will be across the Narrow Sea and out of reach."

She said nothing, just breathed hard now she had the room to do so. He himself was finding it hard not to stare at her lips as he talked. They were softer than those of the whores he bedded and lighter in colour than those of his people. He doubted they had ever been kissed before.

"Now answer me truthfully, how much do you know about Edea Kramer?"

"I'll tell you what I know on one condition." She said at last, voice quiet, icy-like blue eyes boring into his.

He raised an eyebrow and released her chin. She in turn slid her hand out of his hair – much to his relief and the relief of his scalp. "What is your condition?"

"Marry me and take me to the North, beyond the Narrow Sea."

* * *

She saw the emotions play across his face at lightning speed; surprise; incredulity; confusion and then suspicion.

"Why?"

"I need this marriage to avoid another marriage to an inbred swine, you have just tainted my honour and I really want to go to the North."

"Who's the swine?"

"Ser Deling."

"Deal, I'll marry you. Now tell me everything you know about Lady Edea."

* * *

Raijin bit his lip and furrowed his brow as he observed the woman beating the stuffing out of a dummy. He had been crouched behind the same heap of hessian sacks for the better part of two hours, observing the woman as she tore through various pretend-enemies with a wide variety of weapons ranging from nun-chucks to a spear that stood taller than he did and must have had a shaft that was thicker than his wrist. There was no reasonable explanation as to how the woman – who was on the petite side and would barely have reached the Khal's shoulder – could possibly lift a weapon that would put even Raijin at a disadvantage, let alone wield the thing effectively, but she did so.

She was clad in a rough black, sleeveless tunic, leather trousers that hung off her small frame and looked like there was more than enough room for Raijin in there with her (down boy, down) and a pair of riding boots. She blew choppy silver hair from her eyes and wiped a thick leather glove across her forehead, wiping the sweat away. But even though she was sweating, dressed almost entirely in animal skin and looked like she could quite easily gut him if it so struck her fancy, Raijin thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wondered if she had a husband…

Normally Raijin wouldn't have batted an eyelid at a woman of the common decent, in fact he wouldn't have batted an eyelid at a woman of the Vaes decent either, but this was different. She looked like a goddess sent down from the heavens themselves. Maybe she was an angel that fell down? Did it hurt? Was the heavenly power the reason why she could wield those weapons so easily? He didn't have the guts to find out. What would he say? How did one even talk to women?

She stripped off her gloves and stuffed them unto her belt before turning around and striding towards the barracks and the showers, the door to which was directly behind the hessian sacks Raijin was currently hiding behind. Which would mean she would see him hiding from her. Which would be embarrassing. Which meant he needed to act naturally and look like he was meant to be there.

He leapt out at her from behind his hessian sacks and lunged for her hand to shake it, but before he knew what had happened, her elbow had smashed into the top of his head and propelled his face towards the cobbles on the ground.

"Hello," He wheezed, breathless as the angel looked down at her attacker. "Raijin, ya know. Name?"

"FUUJIN." She barked, before stepping over him and continuing on her way, leaving Raijin to grin at the floor, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth, saying her name over and over again. It was as beautiful as she was. (sigh).

* * *

**_A/N: _**Ahhhhhhh! The first kiss! I hope you enjoyed that, I quite enjoyed writing it, I didn't even notice I had already written 2500 words-ish on the Seiftis scene, but I just had to add that little bit on the end, I couldn't resist and I think Raijin is so sweet xD Nawwwwww! Haha! Anyway, I'll bet you guys can't guess where this is going ;)

Leave a review telling me about your favourite bits, the worst bits, anything you think I need to readdress. All notes are appreciated :)

Cya :D

-Iets


	10. Deal

**_A/N: _**Right, so, I know it's not been very long since my last update and I usually wait to hear what people thought of my last chapter, but I needed to get this one done and dusted before I could rest very well.

Anyway, I had a hell of a lot of trouble with plot bunnies on this chapter, they were attacking from all sides and some of them were really persuasive, but the routes on which they would have taken this fic just weren't feasible, so I fought them off with tooth and claw (this is the third version of Chapter 9 that I've done xD) to get to the final product.

I hope you enjoy, don't forget to review :)

* * *

Chapter 9 - Deal.

"Raijin!" Raijin was torn from his reverent inspection of his own face by the voice of his Khal and looked up to see the man trotting towards him across the stable yard. He stood from the barrel he was perched on and thumped his chest with his fist in greeting.

"Raijin," Seifer repeated when he was closer, "I need your help. I need to change the payment we're going to receive for this job and I need you to do that for me. I want you to…" He paused, beginning to frown. "What happened to your face?"

Raijin's expression – which had been one of seriousness and professionalism – turned soft and somewhat distant. He clasped his hands together at his chest and breathed a deep sigh. Seifer's eyebrows dipped further when a smile cracked his friend's lips. "I was beaten by an Angel…"

"An angel?"

"A silver Angel with red, glistening eyes and a really solid elbow…"

"Elbow? Right…"

Raijin sighed again, looking at Seifer through his slightly puffy face. "She was so beautiful…"

"Has she got a name?"

"Fuujin…"

"Do you want me to ask for her in return for the Crown Princess?"

As it turned out, that was a rather a stupid question – of course he wanted to possess her, she would be his very own angel on earth! – and Seifer found himself being swept off the ground into a bone-crushing hug, being swung around on the spot several times before he managed to wrestle himself out of Raijin's grip and regain some of his composure. By now a few people had stopped their work to stare as the famous Khal of the Horse Lords was twirled round in a circle by a man who stood a good head taller than most of them. An odd sight to be sure.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Seifer snapped as Raijin blushed and scratched at the back of his head, grinning. "It was just a bloody question. What's gotten into you?"

Raijin looked sheepish and mumbled an apology, before straightening up and trying to look professional again, although the hue in his ears when he replied he would very much like Rinoa to be replaced by Fuujin sort of took the edge off.

"Anyway," Seifer continued, still watching Raijin warily, "I want you to find two riders for me, fast ones and I want one to be able to speak the Eastern Tongue."

Raijin raised an eyebrow at the odd request, but nodded. "I want you to bring them to me," Seifer continued, "but not tell anyone what you are doing. The first is to ride to the Khalisaar and order them to move to the Narrow Sea as fast as they can, the second is going to carry a message for me to King Kramer of the Eastern Kingdom and then he is to travel to the Narrow Sea and wait for us there."

"Yes, Khal." Raijin nodded again, "But what you are about to do, will this have an effect on our dealing with King Caraway?"

Seifer shrugged, "That depends on what he says at the meeting I am about to have with him."

Raijin nodded and Seifer waved him away, turning to face the palace. This was likely to be messy and it would either take absolutely hours, or it would take no time at all, a few minutes at best. The faster the rider Raijin managed to find the better, but he would still need sufficient time to get out of the Middle Kingdom, which meant Seifer would have to hold back for a little while at least.

* * *

"But what happened, Quistis? You look like you've been pulled through a bush! Backwards!"

"Nothing happened per say," Quistis replied, down on her hands and knees and searching through the long grass. Rinoa was also searching just behind her, also on her hands and knees. "A chance meeting with a Horse Lord had me lose my book and my hair pin. The rest was… well… I was looking for my hair pin when my clothes got muddy and I got grass in my hair when I was arguing with the Horse Lord."

"But what _happened_, Quisty?" Rinoa persisted, "You've not told me anything new, you said you'd had a fight with a Horse Lord already. Why won't you tell me what happened when you fought?"

"Because it's not important?" Quistis suggested, really really not wanting to reveal any of the gory details to her sister, lest the whole palace know about it by sundown, or indeed dinner time if Rinoa was feeling particularly industrious. "And nothing really happened anyway, he just squeezed my arm a bit when I refused to talk to him, that's all."

"Well that's not very nice." Rinoa said, pulling Vaes 'n Taal from the undergrowth, "I found it!"

"Oh, thank you," Quistis said, getting up off her knees and going to where Rinoa was wafting the book in the air. She helped her sister up then took the book off her. She looked it over and picked some stray grass from its cover. "It doesn't look too badly damaged."

"So," Rinoa began, following Quistis as she waded back through the long grass to the path and the pair could brush themselves free of any stray foliage. "Who was the Horse Lord you were tussling with?"

"We were not 'tussling'," Quistis ground out. That word was far too close to the reality for her liking. "And it was the Khal."

"What? But he seemed so gentle yesterday."

"Yes, well apparently a good night's sleep can revitalise a man's violent nature. Besides, he started off perfectly civil, if not a little suggestive."

"Suggestive?" Rinoa repeated, then wiggled her eyebrows in an equally suggestive manner.

"Not like that…" Quistis almost whined, "He suggested I wasn't very smart, that's all."

"And was that reason not to talk to him?"

"Of course, I pride myself on my intellect, Rinoa, and for him to question it was a severe insult."

"So you refused to speak to him and he started to twist your arm."

"Yes."

"What did he want to talk to you about?"

They ducked inside a side door and began making their way to the nearest staircase that would lead to the floor their bedrooms were situated on. Many pairs of eyes followed them as they went and murmured voice could be heard no doubt speculating on why exactly the eldest princess looked like she had been very badly dishevelled. They climbed the stairs side by side.

"Well?" Rinoa prompted when they'd reached their rooms and still Quistis had said nothing. "What did he want to talk to you about?"

"I don't know." Quistis lied, glancing over her shoulder as Zell trotted round the corner at the end of the corridor, "I can't even remember now."

"Can't have been important enough to fight you over then." Rinoa speculated as Zell trotted up and slowed to halt beside the two girls. He swept a bow and cleared his throat.

"The King would like to see both the Princesses in the Throne Room immediately, your highnesses."

"Thank you, Zell," Quistis said, curtseying, "We will be along shortly."

"He means immediately, your highness," Zell said, looking a little worried, "He's really angry about something."

Quistis and Rinoa exchanged worried glances before muttering their thanks to Zell as they passed him, jogging back down the corridor and towards the Throne Room.

* * *

Caraway had been readying himself in his Throne Room to deal with some financial advisors and their complaints when a servant announced the Khal wanted to speak with him. Of course Caraway had no complaints to that and let the Khal in immediately, welcoming him and his escort with a flourish and offering him food and drink if he had not already satisfied his need for both. But the Khal had refused both and instead announced he wanted to-

"Change… the payment?"

"Yes." The translator – who had had to be called for as the Khal was apparently not speaking in the common tongue today – said. "He says by the Laws of his people he cannot accept two wives and he cannot use the other wife for any other purpose than the one she is gifted to him as."

"Why was I not told about this?" Caraway turned to his Advisor of Diplomatic Relations and asked. "Now I am being made to look a fool in front of my people."

"I had no idea he could only accept one, your Grace." The Advisor apologised, "Most Horse Lords have multiple wives."

"So then," Caraway addressed the translator. "What does the Khal want to change the payment to?"

A brief exchange of words. "He wishes to make a trade, one Princess for your Mistress, Your-"

"What?" Caraway snapped, cutting him off. "He wants to do, what?"

"He wants to trade one Princess for your Mistress, Sire."

"My mistress."

"Yes, Sire."

"Why?"

The King's voice had taken on a deadly tone and the translator stammered, licking his lips nervously several times before asking the Khal again what it was he wanted to do and why. Having heard the answer again, correctly, for the second time, the translator gulped and looked hesitantly towards the King.

"Well?" Caraway prompted, his patience and temper fraying rather seriously.

"He, err… S-says she doesn't belong here."

"And how would he know that?"

"He said he was speaking with Princess Quistis when he learnt the Mistress was not of this country, Sire."

"Quistis." Caraway repeated, making sure he got this right before he lost his temper. "Quistis informed him of this."

"Yes, Sire."

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for as long as he could before letting it out. He was extremely angry. The breath came out in a rather shaky rush and he clenched his hand around his sceptre until his knuckles turned white. He turned to a guard standing by a side door and hissed, his face turning puce, "Bring me my daughters, _now_."

* * *

"Are you a bloody belligerent, or just plain stupid?" Caraway spat, standing in front of Quistis and glaring down at her with all the control he could muster. Which realistically wasn't very much. "Did you want to start a bloody war? How dare you suggest we had stolen anyone from their country!? How dare you disclose information about my closest acquaintances without my explicit permission?!" He looked her up and down. "And what in Hyne's name happened to you?! You look like you've been attacked by a troupe of wild apes!"

"I lost my book."

"Pardon?"

"I lost my book."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"I look like this because I was searching for my book."

"Then I hope you've been searching very hard indeed, you're a mess!" He turned on Rinoa then, "And you! Why do you look a state, girl?!"

"I was helping her look." Rinoa whispered meekly, unable to meet her father's eyes.

"Helping her look?" Caraway spluttered. Behind him the Khal whispered a command to the Horse Lord beside him and the man turned and trotted off to carry out… Whatever it was. The Khal cleared his throat, regaining Caraway's attention, much to the relief of his two beleaguered daughters.

"The Khal would like to return to the business he came here to discuss with you, your Grace." The translator said, apparently much preferring to stare at his toes than meet the King's eye. "He asks that you discipline your daughters later."

"I do not want to deal with the Khal anymore." Caraway said, attempting a calm tone, but failing. "Send him away."

"He says if you do not deal with him now, he will ever deal with you again and he will take his forces somewhere they will be better received."

Caraway narrowed his eyes at the Khal. He was a queer fellow, this Khal, ordinarily if one wanted business they would learn to compromise, especially if they were a guest of the King himself. But the ordinary confines of society seemed to hold no sway over him. No one else on the planet would get away with such cheek, heaven alone knew why this punk should. But Caraway smoothed down his gown anyway and returned to his throne.

"Ask the Khal to continue with his wishes."

"He says his wishes are to marry Princess Quistis, be gifted your personal Bodyguard, Ser Fuujin, and be allowed to return the Lady Edea to her country, Sire. Along with being gifted all the other provisions you had previously promised."

Caraway grit his teeth, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. "This is a steep price," He grumbled, "I am disinclined to let either my Bodyguard or Mistress go."

"The Khal says this is his price."

"Why Quistis?" Caraway asked, already beginning to form a plan in his mind. "Why not marry Rinoa instead and forget about the other two women? Rinoa holds the most value as a wife and the other two would simply provide trouble for him on the road."

"The Khal says he has no need for a wife with ordinary values."

Ordina-! How dare he?! His precious Rinoa? Ordinary? Indeed, the man was a crack pot, simply barmy! "Rinoa is no ordinary Princess!" Caraway protested, wiggling his sceptre at her with an indignant air. "She is the produce of my loins-" A collective wince ran round the room. "-The air to my throne! She will bear you many good children, far stronger than any Quistis could manage!" Rinoa looked slightly horrified at the idea.

"Are you a weak woman then?" The Khal addressed Quistis directly, not bothering with the translator this time. All eyes fell to Quistis, who swallowed thickly, glancing at her father and sister before looking to Seifer again.

"I have no intention of bearing you children," she said, over on his throne Caraway rolled his eyes. "My family has a history of dying in childbirth, but that is my only weakness."

"So, basically you're a one stop shop." The Khal said, one eyebrow raised. That comment deserved a haughty look, which it got. He looked at Caraway and shrugged his shoulders.

"He says he isn't bothered." The translator said as the Khal returned to speaking in the Taal. "And that concludes his wishes, he will not marry the Crown Princess because he doesn't need many children, he needs a strong, intelligent woman to be his…" The translator had the Khal repeat the word. And repeat it again, and again until the Khal simply translated it for him. "Queen."

"Quistis has not had the training for being a Queen." Caraway protested. The plan he had come up with relied mainly on the Khal deciding to marry Rinoa, thus allowing Caraway to manipulate the situation surrounding Edea and Fuujin, neither of whom he could give up easily. Although, that being said, it might play to his favour if…

"The Khal says none of the 'training' we could provide would prepare a woman for the life of a Queen, Sire."

Caraway turned to Quistis, "If you were to accept the marriage to the Khal, I would expect your help in assuring Galbadia has its protection."

Quistis frowned, her eyes flicking between both of her father's. "Are you consenting?"

"I want your utmost loyalty, Quistis." Caraway repeated, mentally willing Quistis to agree. She did, nodding slowly, obviously suspicious as to what he was up to. Caraway turned to the Khal, "I approve your engagement to my daughter, Princess Quistis. But the other details of our arrangement must be discussed further."

He called his advisor over and began a whispered conversation. "Is there a way of having Fuujin here but sort of under my control. You know, like giving them ceremonial control?"

"Erm, not really my lord, it would be seen as a breach of our contract if we were to insist she remained here, given we stated at the beginning that we would pay them two women."

"But we're not paying her over as a bride, I want her back at the end of this."

"You might try instigating a loan of her services."

"And what are we to do about Edea? I'm not allowing them to take her away, I have her for a reason."

Politely ignoring the implications behind that last sentence, the advisor requested permission to negotiate on the behalf of the King. Caraway nodded his acceptance and the advisor went to work. He stood from his chair at the King's side and descended the few steps to the Khal's level.

"It is impossible for us to hand Ser Fuujin over to the Khal because she has sworn an oath to serve the King until her death. However, we would be willing to lend her to you for the duration of your employment with us. Is this acceptable?"

* * *

The Galbadians were up to something, Seifer was absolutely certain of it. And their attitude towards their family ties was disgusting, especially the attitude Caraway had to his daughters' "worth". In the Vaes culture family ties were strong, you did what had to be done to keep your family safe from harm, even if that meant giving up your life on the battle field, and marriages were made out of love, honour was never besmirched, certainly not within the Khal's own family. The fact that Quistis was only being allowed to marry him on the condition she remained loyal to her father – who could now be safely classed as a tyrant – was evidence enough to the traitorous nature of their culture. No wonder she'd chosen to marry him rather than a man of her own people.

"Tell this man I want to take Lady Edea away from this dirt as well." He told the translator, glancing at Quistis, just to see her again; if not much else, she was a hell of a lot better looking than anyone else in the room, even in her dishevelled state. He smirked, he really had done a number on her appearance, Lord alone knew what people must be thinking of her now.

"Tell the Khal that if he completes the terms of his contract, he may have the Lady Edea and we will consider extending his control over Ser Fuujin." The Advisor said. Behind him, Caraway cleared his throat. That obviously wasn't something he wanted.

Seifer was just about to give the Translator something else to say when Raijin and a number of others from his Khalisaar arrived in the throne room, along with Nida whom he had sent to fetch them. Raijin walked over to stand by his Khal. "What is going on?" He asked in a whisper, giving Caraway a disapproving look. The translator leant an ear in their direction, but a few hard looks sent him packing.

"They've agreed to my marriage to Quistis but they don't want us to take Fuujin or Edea."

"I didn't know we wanted to take Edea."

"We do not necessarily, but if they do not give her to us, I will be forced to do a thing I'm afraid you will not approve of." He put a hand on Raijin's shoulder, bringing his hazel attention from Caraway to Seifer. "I do not want you to think badly of me."

"Why would I think badly of you?" Raijin asked, frowning, "You have never led us on a bad stray, always onto new heights."

"This soon to pass may bring our Khalisaar to new lows, my friend. I will choose Edea over my Khalisaar."

Raijin looked immediately affronted and Seifer felt a shoot of pain run right through his heart, like a hot knife that forced its way up through his belly, bursting his organs and searing the flesh as it went. It was the feeling he got when he knew he'd done something that wasn't going to end well for him. Like that time when he was 12 and the horse he had only moments ago stolen turned right around and returned to its furious looking owner, who just so happened to be carrying a sharpened, glistening spear at the time. This was the beginning of the end of his friendship with Raijin and it hurt like nothing else in the world had ever hurt him before, or he doubted would ever hurt him again.

But after a few moments of frowning, searching his Khal's eyes deeply, Raijin simply sighed, gave his head a small shake, and clapped a hand on Seifer's shoulder, squeezing it roughly. "Then accept the terms, Seifer," He said, cracking a grin, "And I will follow you over every dirt, to whatever your ends or until the Red Dawn rises."

A weight was lifted. Seifer chuckled, "Thank the Lord!" He couldn't even remember that feeling anymore, he should have bloody _known_ Raijin wasn't like that! Raijin didn't judge! He was… for lack of a better word… Perfect! "Lord alone knows who I would be without you." Seifer grinned, feeling a hell of a lot better about what he was now planning to do. He turned to Caraway and – after serious effort – wiped the grin off his face.

"I will accept these terms; I will marry Quistis, probably within the week-" Quistis and Rinoa exchanged 'well, well, well' glances, "- You will hand all control of Ser Fuujin over to me until the end of our contract, and upon the completion of my side of our contract, you will hand over the Lady Edea to me." He said.

The advisor nodded, "We accept these terms." He held out a hand for Seifer to shake.

Seifer ignored it. "I'm not making a contract with you," He said, then stepped around the advisor and mounted the steps to where Caraway was lounging in his throne. He held out his hand. "I will hold you personally responsible should our contract be broken in any way."

Caraway shook. Seifer smirked. Caraway swallowed thickly. Seifer turned away, turning his attention to Quistis, approaching her and reaching for her hand to kiss the knuckles. She winced when he touched her.

* * *

He gave her a funny look. "Is something wrong?"

Despite debating whether to inform him she thought a week's notice on a marriage was a little too little notice, Quistis had to admit the real problem at the present was her wrist, the one he had squeezed earlier. It had been slowly swelling over the last few hours as she was searching for her book, but now it had been doing nothing for a good long while and it had been hanging down, clasped in front of her, the rate of swelling had increased. Now it had roughly tripled in size and the delicate sleeve material she was wearing did nothing to disguise its ugliness.

The Khal surmised what was wrong and took her hand rather more delicately this time, lifting it up to his level and inspecting it, prodding gently at the area where her hand met her wrist, no doubt assessing any breaks there might be. She hoped there were none else that would most likely mean an amputation. She didn't want that. Apart from anything else, it would mean she would have to learn to write with her other hand.

"I will have someone look at this for you," He said, adding when she looked a little sceptical, "We travel all over the world and learn many new medicines, Princess. We are far better than your average travellers."

"It would not need fixing if you hadn't broken it." She replied, not even bothering to stop herself from being a bit bitchy. The guy had just sworn to her father he was going to marry her, that was all she needed, his love or devotion would be a bonus, but not compulsory.

He raised an eyebrow. "If you had only looked at me when I asked you to, I would not have felt the need to twist your arm."

"If you hadn't pushed me over I wouldn't have been avoiding looking at you!"

"If you'd have answered my questions I wouldn't have pushed you over, and don't you think you're being horrid?"

"No, I think it was horrid of you to treat me so roughly and I think it's horrid of you to marry me and cart me away so quickly-"

"Cart away?" Caraway interrupted, not the only one in the room who was witnessing this small relationship spat with interest and surprise – they acted as though they had been married for years already! "Where are you going?"

"The North." The pair replied in unison.

"And!" Quistis continued, cutting Seifer off when he opened his mouth to speak, "I think it's horrid of you to assume we have no good healers here. And you called me stupid. No self-respecting woman was going to roll over and play dead after _that_!"

"I did not call you stupid," Seifer protested. "I suggested someone had called you intelligent in a way that suggested I didn't believe them because _you_-" he extended one of the fingers still wrapped gently around her swollen wrist – which already seemed to be decreasing in diameter – and pointed at her with it. "-suggested I wanted to marry a woman who was old enough to be my mother!" A small gasp ran round the room. "I am marrying you quickly because I have business in the North, thought you would want your sister at your wedding and you want to come with me to the North so I cannot very well leave you here, and you _don't_ have any good healers."

Quistis glared. Never had she met a man who infuriated her so much. Well no, that wasn't true, really all men infuriated her but that was mainly because they only saw her for her breasts and her ovaries. This man was infuriating in an intellectual way. In a fundamental way. In a way that infuriated her because she actually had someone who was willing to argue seriously with her and she had just run out of things to say. "I don't want your medicine."

"Fine then, turn up to the wedding with an arm the thickness of your father's neck-" here Caraway touched his neck, measuring it's thickness and probably thinking it wasn't _that_ thick, "-and a fat face, 'cause that jaw is going to swell too if you don't do something about it."

* * *

Before he even had time to blink, she'd slugged him across the face. "Well your face is going to swell too then," She said, sounding triumphant, furious and a little bit exhilarated. "And that'll make the both of us."

He staggered back and held a hand to his mouth, an iron-like taste blooming around his tongue. His fingers came away red. He stared at them for a moment, almost not believing what had just happened – the rest of the room didn't seem to believe it either, Rinoa's jaw was hanging open, as were much of the rest of the room's and Caraway had leapt up from his seat and was now stood clutching handfuls of his own hair, obviously agonizing over the possibility of Quistis just having blown the whole deal they had just made completely out of the water – but he turned his hand and showed the red smear to his Khalisaar.

There were a few wolf-whistles and more than a few chuckles; they all knew what that meant. Raijin simply looked excited about it, he'd mentioned before that watching Seifer fight was his favourite form of entertainment and if this was any indication, there was likely to be plenty of entertainment to keep him satisfied.

Quistis – after the bravado of the argument had finally worn off – now looked mortified and reached out her good hand to his face, stumbling over what was probably meant to be an apology. He ignored the apologies and the outstretched hand and instead pulled her towards him, crushing their lips together, blood squeezing out of his broken lip. She was frozen in shock, eyes wide open and staring at him, bright blue like ice or something equally as beautiful.

* * *

She didn't know how to react. Maybe this sort of thing was normal in Vaes culture – she didn't know, she hadn't read that far in the book to find out – but to be kissed twice on the same day, in front of the King and many other people, before you were married (!) was nigh on unheard of! It simply wasn't done! And with that and the taste of metal that was making its way onto her tongue, the green eyes that seemed nearly to be slipping closed in front of her and the absolute silence that rang through the hall, she was overwhelmed.

This kiss was a lot gentler, but took a lot longer than the first and by the time he had seen fit to release her, she was beginning to wonder if it would be seen as rude – even ruder than she was already being – to force him off her. When he let her go the taste of his blood was still on her tongue and she had no doubt it was coating her lips, as it was his.

"Lekker slaap, Khalissi." He all but purred, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, before he turned and signalled for his Khalisaar to leave. The Throne Room when they had gone was silenter than the dead.

She cleared her throat and grabbed for Rinoa's hand, "I err, I think it's time I sorted out my appearance…" She muttered, before hurrying out of the room without so much as a by-your-leave.

* * *

**_A/N:_** *phew* I'm glad I got that done xD Now things can finally start hotting up around here, building their relationships up, breaking their little hearts, all those fun things that authors like to do to torture their audiences :D

Anyway, next time on Game of Thrones: Quistis has to prepare for her wedding day and Fuujin has to introduce herself to the Khalisaar, I'm sure they'll both do splendidly as both of these tasks are right up their street ;)

So, leave a review telling me your favourite bit, your most hated bit and look forward to the next decision! (It's coming up soon, I promise! ;D).

-Iets


	11. Preparing

_**A/N:** _I'm sorry about the wait, but moving to Uni and getting started on the course has taken up a lot of my attention and my time. I can't say updates will come more frequently now, but I will try to keep up with them this time. There will probably be more over the Christmas break, so if anyone is still reading this thing, that's something to look forward to :)

* * *

Chapter 10 - Preparing.

White silk fluttered around her ankles, moved by the breeze that blew in through the open window of the seamstress's quarters. Her hair was pulled up out of the way and a ribbon passed softly around her throat, caressing her skin. A shimmering material lay folded in a pile on the window seat, coloured pink by the sunset that disappeared below the horizon in the west. It was a truly beautiful sight, red glow glancing off the cloud strewn heavens, fading into the darkness of the trees in the distance, throwing its beams through the window glass and falling in pools all around her. The light rustle of fabric was like music in the air, breaking up the silence as the seamstress walked around and around her, holding up reams of material, sticking pins here and there, tapping a finger to her chin and reaching for the tape measure.

Quistis stood in silence on her stool, bathed in the light of the sunset and swathed in so much fabric she felt almost as though she was drowning in it. The wedding dresses of princesses were huge and cumbersome things with great bell-shaped skirts, tight-fitting corsets and huge ruffs stuck onto the collars. This was what had been worn for hundreds of years and it was unlikely to change in the next hundred, certainly not in the next week. She had said many many times before that she envied the common girls, being able to choose who to marry, choose what they wore, wear something comfortable on their wedding days…

The soft breeze was cooling on her face, its soft tendrils curling round the back of her neck to the sweat that was beginning to form from the sheer weight of the clothing she was wearing. Its sudden cold made her shiver and seeing this, the seamstress went and shut the window, closing out the breeze, the sunshine, the smell of the flowers, the rustle of the tree leaves, trapping her indoors. She heaved a sigh at the symbolism it carried.

There was a knock on the door, further shattering the peaceful illusion. The seamstress went for the door and the King entered. The seamstress curtseyed and Quistis attempted the same. Caraway looked her up and down, "You look like a Queen." He said softly.

"I am not a Queen, your Grace; I am a pin-cushion." She replied quietly, feeling far more docile now her ticket to freedom had been secured. Caraway chuckled, apparently also feeling very much more relaxed about the whole affair, though lord knew it had only been a few hours since the Khal had left the palace, preferring to sleep with his men in their little encampment outside the city walls.

Caraway motioned for the seamstress to continue her work and he took a seat on the windowsill, adopting a look she hadn't seen for a very long time, since she was merely a child. He was going to go all gushy any minute now, she could just tell. True to her suspicions, Caraway pulled out a handkerchief and mopped at his eyes a few moments later.

"You know," He said quietly as the seamstress began to pass ribbon around Quistis' arms and secure them with pins at the shoulder. "I haven't told you this very often, and I've not thought about it for a very long time, but I'm proud of you, Quistis."

"Your Grace, please," Quistis sighed, shaking her head, "You needn't tell me you're proud just because I'm finally doing something you want."

"It's not that," Caraway mumbled, dabbing his eyes again. "Of course I _am_ very pleased that you're doing as you're told. You've always stood up to me and never done anything I've asked, but I'm proud of you for many other reasons as well. Rinoa is…" He sucked in a breath and took a glance outside, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Well well well, the man was really going for it this time, eh? "As helpless and as clueless as a child. She needs so much attention all of the while, spending my money, travelling all over the kingdom, socialising and having a good time, falling in love with a new boy every other week it seems. She's always been this way, never really changing since she was a youngster. But you," He turned watering eyes back to her and for the first time in a very long time, Quistis began to feel a little sad as well, "You've gone and grown up without me. Before I even knew it, my blonde little girl had all grown up into a beautiful young woman, who reads books, studies musical instruments, discusses politics with foreigners, doesn't chase boys and squander her money on frivolous objects like her sister does. I've never had to worry about you like I've had to worry about Rinoa and it's only now that you're about to leave, I realise that you're not a little girl anymore, I don't have to worry about you anymore and that I've never told you just how proud of you I am."

"Your Grace," Quistis replied, lifting her chin for the seamstress to fit a prototype-ruff. "I don't need to be told you're proud of me. Having your approval has always been something I've sought for, but after 19 years of looking for it in books, music, art, airs and graces, I have settled on the idea that it is not to be found here. As much as I appreciate your pride, the only thing I want now is to be out of this dress and tucked up in my bed."

"Quistis…"Caraway wiped his eyes again and stood up from the window seat, scrunching the handkerchief up in his hand. "I have always been proud of you, for searching hard for the answers you need, for keeping yourself safe from harm… I will always be proud of you for doing this for your country, for me."

"Your Grace, I'm not going to my death, don't-"

"Quistis, stop calling me 'Your Grace'," Caraway said, hopping out of the seamstress's way as she circled Quistis' waist with another loop of white silk ribbon. "I'm your Dad, not your King."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," She sighed, shaking her head, "You haven't been my Dad in a very long time."

* * *

Horses; the sweet smell of them, the hay they were feasting on; the sounds they made as they snuffled away in their food, stamped their feet, nickered to one another. They were graceful creatures with long legs, long necks, long tails, big, dark oval eyes and small quick ears. A mixture of stupidity and wisdom all in one, unable to read or speak words, but experts at survival, avoiding the darkness, the frightening, the unsafe. Graceless and course, Fuujin emulated their behaviour regardless. She trained herself up not to fear the things an ordinary woman would. She practiced night and day with all manner of weapons so she was not afraid of the darkness. Nothing was more dangerous than she was nowadays. But this was frightening her. There were some things she knew she could not overcome, numbers were one of those things, and today the Vaes were out en masse.

Her hands were sweating inside her gloves even though she felt cold, goose bumps rising underneath her armour. She had squared her shoulders before she even left the barracks early this morning and had kept them squared all the way out of the city and down the hill to the Vaes camp, now her shoulders hurt and her neck ached something terrible. Striding through the encampment in search of the golden-haired Khal only made her feel more and more nervous, no matter how confident she looked. She had been specifically requested before, certainly not by any foreign dignitaries; she wasn't aware they were even aware of her existence. It honestly scared her.

It didn't take her very long to find the Khal, it wasn't hard to distinguish between the rough looking dark-skinned, unshaven men and the neatly sheared, caramel skinned, bright-eyed young man sat on a tree stump, sharpening his sword on a wetting stone. He looked up on her approach, looking her first up then down, before returning his attention to his sword. She tucked her chin in and threw a salute; apparently she was going to have to take the initiative.

"SER FUUJIN. KING'S GUARD. REPORTING."

He gave a brief nod and tested the edge of his sword with his thumb. People had begun to crowd around them now, intrigued by the armoured woman confronting their Khal, forming a circle around the pair. Fuujin stood as still as she could, getting – for the first time in many years – the urge to shuffle her feet. The waiting made her feel nervous, as well as the scrutiny being afforded by the gathering men. Their gazes were a mixture of intrigue, distaste and appreciation. She scowled.

The Khal gestured one of the men forward, he slammed a fist into his own chest in greeting – like a big monkey or something – and the two exchanged a few words. Glances were thrown at her, the monkey-man blushed and scratched the back of his head, seemed to stumble over his words and – after one last glance at her – started giggling and digging the toe of one boot into the dirt. Really? Rumour would have her believe these were warriors… The evidence said otherwise.

"Well, Fuujin," The Khal stood up, watching the monkey-man from the corner if his eye with a worried expression, "I trust you've been informed of your situation here?"

"YES."

He gave her a look. "I've been told you can wield a sword."

"CORRECT."

"And other weapons?"

"CORRECT."

"Do you have a speech impediment?"

"NO." She said, turning her nose up. Behind the Khal, the monkey-man was gathering himself together again and had assumed a somewhat professional look. He grinned when their eyes met and waved. She rolled her eyes in response.

Seeing the exchange, the Khal gestured to the monkey-man, "This is Raijin, he is my second in command and will be your superior officer after me." Fuujin nodded, Raijin… She thought he had looked a little familiar, he was the man she'd elbowed into the ground yesterday afternoon. "Raijin is the man you will go to with questions, he will give you your orders and you will report to him. It is also your duty to protect him, as it is your duty to protect every man you stand beside." The Khal fixed her with a look. It was a look that made her insides feel cold, frozen even. Those eyes were feral, half wild but kept under wraps by something. They reminded her of a snake's eyes as it fixed its prey. "Do you understand?"

"YES." This Khal was scary, much more frightening than the King or anyone else she had ever encountered and what was worse, she would probably have a hard time killing this one, he wasn't the Khal for just any old reason…

"Fight him."

She raised an eyebrow. "FIGHT?"

"Yes," The Khal said, sheathing his newly sharpened sword. He waved Raijin – who had lost his sappy expression – forward, "Everyone must have a use, you say you can wield a sword, prove it."

Raijin gave the Khal an apprehensive look and was about to say something, a complaint no doubt, but Fuujin didn't give him the chance. It wasn't that she was particularly disposed to beating people up, but she had been told by the King to follow the Khal's orders until she was told otherwise. She drew her sword and smacked Raijin round the head with the flat of it. He crumpled without resistance only seconds before nearly a hundred swords were drawn simultaneously.

For his part, the Khal appeared quite calm, relaxed even. He still hadn't stood from his stump, hadn't drawn his sword and didn't even seem remotely concerned about the fact that his second in command was now an unconscious, crumpled mass at his feet. He was looking at Fuujin with a sort of… grading eye, as though he was evaluating her work. There wasn't really anything wrong with Raijin, she hadn't killed him, just hit him really hard in the head. It wasn't even as though she'd attacked him out of the blue either, she was only following the orders that were put to her-

"Welcome to the Khalisaar." She took the proffered hand and shook it. He had a firm grip, a sign of confidence. She matched the pressure in his fingers. The surrounding men exchanged looks, a few shrugs and then slowly the bristling wall of knives was sheathed and crowd began to disperse. She let go of the Khal's hand as soon as regulation would allow, then took a roll of parchment from her coin purse and held it out. If that was – as she suspected – her initiation over, then these were the King's instructions as to what to do with her from now on. Specifically that she was to eat, sleep and live with the Khalisaar from this moment on. She had no home in the palace barracks from here on out.

The Khal gave it a brief skim over, then nodded. "Fair enough, take Raijin away and don't bring him back until he's conscious and able to speak like a human being." He said, standing up and stuffing the roll into his belt. Fuujin nodded and stepped forward to grab one of Raijin's arms, slinging it over her shoulder and heaving. He was a lot heavier than any of the other men she had shouldered in the past, a daunting testament to just how much muscle mass this guy was made up of and how much damage he could do if so inclined…

* * *

Seifer grinned as he watched Fuujin staggering away under Raijin's weight, his feet dragging on the ground and various pointing fingers directing the new warrior in the direction of Raijin's tent. The change taken over the big man at the mere sight of Fuujin was startling, worrying in fact – if he was going to have the two of them fighting alongside him he wanted to make sure Raijin would be in a fit state to watch his back, not be busily going goo-goo eyed over some silver vixen – but he wouldn't be being a good brother if he didn't at least allow him to indulge in his fancies. Certainly waking up to Fuujin nursing him back to health would put Raijin in an excellent mood! At least make him a little more appreciative of Seifer's understanding nature anyway. He chuckled as he considered what he'd just done. He liked Fuujin, she was tough, regimented; she was going to fit in like a dream here.

He picked up his wetting stone and tossed it up in the air, catching it and repeating the action. He needed to find a gift to present to the Khalissi, a wedding present. It needed to be something she would like – something pretty or perhaps intellectual – something that would be useful for a life on the move – a Horse or a weapon – and something he could get his hands on quickly, within the week – erm… Nothing really springing to mind… To be honest a Khal would normally have quite a long time to think about a wedding gift, all that time spent courting the woman of his choice would have allowed him to get to know her more and hence form an idea of what she would like. Seifer was out of the loop on that one though, having had very little time to get to know his Khalissi and having fought with her for half of that.

He thought about it as he wandered towards his tent, tossing his wetting stone into the air. From what he could gather, Quistis was a pragmatist, into thinking rather than dreaming, she was the sort to study thoroughly, read up on something she was unsure of – hence the Vaes 'N Taal – but there were still things she had interests in above all else. Things like philosophy, the North, preserving her-

The North! The wetting stone landing in his hand with a definitive smack. The North. She wanted to go to the North after they were married, in fact it was one of the first things she demanded of him, it was as important to her as Edea was to him. But did he have anything Northern? He ducked into his tent and went straight to the trunk full of his possessions, throwing open the lid and beginning to pull things out, tossing them aside. He was pretty sure he had some Northern things stashed away somewhere, some weaponry he thought or a piece of jewellery…

The ground around him was becoming slowly more cluttered as bits and bobs were dragged out of the way, strips of leather, gems, various pieces of weaponry and armour, an old broken shield he was planning on fixing at some point… A tankard he had no idea he had… A bottle of something once fit for human consumption but now a murky brown colour he wouldn't want to touch with a barge pole… More armour… Spare hides… and a dagger. He turned the dagger over in his hands; it was an odd shape, like a root, or an antler with branches of metal sprouting from one thick stem. It was obviously something that had once sat atop a spear – something he had observed when he'd first found it a few years ago in Trabia – although when it had been transformed into a dagger he had no idea. It had an inscription on the blade – or should he say blades? But he had no idea what it said, he could read basic Trabian, it wasn't so very different from the Tongue they used now, but the words on the dagger were of a much older dialect. He shrugged, it probably wasn't all that important, and set the dagger aside. He needed something else, something that was either pretty or intellectual… He looked around his tent for anything inspiring.

He wrinkled his nose. What on earth would be inspiring about a bed roll, a dirty plate, a pile of discarded belongings and a dirty pair of foot wraps? Nothing. Certainly not anything that would inspire a princess. He didn't have access to things like books or ancient scrolls; he owned no dresses and certainly no jewellery. Those things would only be found in a woman's tent and he had already sent all the women ahead to the Narrow Sea…

Sitting back on his bum, he observed the dagger again. It would be handy knowing what the inscription said; it would have more meaning to it if he could tell her what it meant… None of the other weaponry he had was going to be any good either as most of it was scratched, bent or blood-stained and he was willing to bet a bollock she wouldn't want any of that. He heaved a sigh and lay back among his scattered possessions. Never in a million years would he have thought he'd be agonising over finding suitable gifts to present to a woman… Gone were the days of flowers and a nice leg of horse…

Hey, that was a thing! Did she have a nice horse? He got to his feet and ducked out of his tent, trotting over to the Ramada. Any horse she would have was likely to be the decorative type, perfect for sitting on and looking pretty as you strolled about the courtyard, but no good over ruddy terrain, running for miles in a day, scrambling over the mountains, surviving for days in the frozen wastes of the Trabian tundra. Only the hardiest of horses could make that journey. He walked between the horses, running his hands over their sides, their backs, grabbing handfuls of the downy fur they were covered in. He wanted a kind tempered one, pretty to look at, but with lots of fur so it wouldn't be hindered by the rough winters. It needed to be sure footed, a solid build with a good straight back, strong shoulders… Something that would keep her safe without him having to handle her with kid gloves… Finally he found what he was looking for, more or less. It was a pretty little thing with thick golden fur, brown mane and tail, shaggy feet and dark twinkling eyes. It wasn't much smaller than his own horse and when he inspected it, he found it to be a mare. Perfect. It was going to be strong, warm and steady, just what he wanted. And what was even better was the fact that it currently had no owner! The tribes had a fondness for decorating their steeds with beads, feathers, earrings sometimes and on one occasion he'd seen a horse whose owner had actually fashioned it a necklace of horse hair, bone and glass beads and a solid-gold pendant.

He took a handful of its mane and began to lead it from the Ramada; it followed him obediently and quietly. As he was walking to his tent he spotted Nida peeking to Raijin's tent. He stopped next to him and took a peek as well. Raijin was sat up, wringing his hands and blabbering on about Fuujin's 'metal dress' "ya know". Nida was sniggering at the sight and Seifer felt the corners of his mouth beginning to turn as well, but he hooked the back of Nida's tunic anyway and yanked him away from the tent. Nida yelped and turned to stare at his attacker. Seifer fixed him with a disapproving glare. "Did Raijin make a joke?"

"Err, No, Khal," Nida shook his head, blushing. "Raijin's speech is strange. I thought he could speak the Common Tongue well."

Seifer resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. As though that wasn't the understatement of the century. Instead he stepped to the side and indicated the mare that stood patiently behind him. "This is the Khalissi's horse. Find her some tack and a rug."

"Yes, Khal." Nida nodded, thumping a fist to his chest before taking hold of the mare's mane and leading her off towards his own tent. If everyone in the tribe had their strong point, then Nida's was horses, or more specifically their tact, he was an expert at crafting tack, altering tack, fitting tack and destroying it – many an enemy scout had found themselves and their tack deposited unceremoniously on the ground whilst their horses scampered off without them.

Seifer took one last look into Raijin's tent – the big man was now waving his hands furiously and apologising for some dire misunderstanding – then, shaking his head in amusement, headed off towards his own tent to do some tidying up.

* * *

**_A/N:_** So, what did we think? Everyone looking forward to the wedding? I'm not... I can't decide how to write it... From Quistis' POV or Seifers? Shall it be a celebration like in the actual books and TV show? Should I make it a little different? Should I stir things up a bit or let them settle down? When in the heck do they consummate the marriage?! If they do it at all that is... I feel as though I made Seifer a bit soft in this chapter, so I'm going to toughen him up in a bit, no fear, he won't be OOC for long, we just need a little something to push him towards his ol' self again... Any ideas?


	12. Till Death Do We Part

_**A/N:**_ Kinda long this one, so I hope it makes up for the long wait, sorry about that. BUT! And this may make it a little more acceptable, this is the first part of the long-awaited wedding! So sit back, but on some eighties power ballads, and enjoy ;)

* * *

Chapter 11 – Until death do we part.

She was walking with a limp. Caraway had been more than his usual angry last night, barely giving her enough time to unclothe herself before he took her like a dog takes a bitch. That wasn't to say he hadn't been angry the nights before, in fact he seemed determined to make a point to her, or at least to himself for the last week. Over the last 3 years his sexual activity had dropped until he was invading her privacy barely once every two weeks – he was getting on a bit in years after all. This was the most action she'd seen in a good long time and she wasn't enjoying it. Every step she took towards the balcony heralded an unwelcome twang from something 'below deck'.

She placed a hand on the balcony edge and looked out over the palace grounds to the Vaes encampment just outside the walls. To see her son again was more than her dreams had ever imagined. She had spent many evenings wishing to see her family again; her husband and all his endearments, constantly getting himself in a muddle with his robes, losing his eye-glasses and falling asleep in court; her son, the bright-eyed young boy with the wit and cunning of a fox, a dab hand with a bow and arrow and a penchant for speaking the unspeakable truth. To see Cid was a far-fetched hope, she knew, but she had never expected for one minute that she would see her boy again. He had died in the same raid as the one which parted her forever from her people. There had been no word of the Black Rabbit of Centra since that day, no word that had reached either here, or Balamb. There was a hole in her heart that could not be filled.

Now, much older than then, she felt that hole filling with a mixture of pride and melancholy. The sharp young Rabbit she had known then was all grown up now and sharper still by the looks of things. 12 years ago she'd thought long and hard about how she wanted him to turn out; polite of course, good with a sword, fearless, strong, a politician by creed but a warrior if the need arose. By the time he was 12 he was an excellent archer, sword fighter and horse-rider, practicing hair-raising tricks and feats of recklessness that had her chewing a hole in her lip more often than not. But when he wasn't practising violence or defying his death he was sharp with his words, ruthless in conversation and fearless in the face of Nobility. He was turning out as spoilt a brat as any she had seen, testing his limits and finding he had none. The boy she'd considered a losing battle had turned into a man somewhere along the road. She hoped he hadn't brought about this change on the back of tremendous suffering. For the changes in him, she was proud, hoping she had helped to mould him somehow in the few years they had spent together. She was melancholy for having missed 12 years of his life.

She heaved a sigh and traced a finger along the edges of the stone components of the balcony rail. She had not moulded very much in her life, her own family falling apart when she was but 14 with the death of her brother and her father's slow but sure descent into madness. She'd moulded herself as best she could, focusing her inspiration on her memories of her mother, who had died a few years earlier from a torrid fever. She had attempted to mould the child Lapin Noir, but he was venomous, caustic and all her attempts just flowed over and around him, unable to touch him at all. There were times when she had attempted to raise up the young Princess Quistis, but the girl was so capable, there weren't very many things she needed help with. Of course, having a father like Caraway who didn't understand affection in any humane sense didn't help her and there were times when the child's weeping could be heard all over the palace. But there was no need for moulding there.

Edea Kramer was pleased that her little Black Rabbit and the fatherless little Princess would be joined together. They were two things equally precious to her and there was a possibility that in time they would become equally as precious to each other. If there was any trace of the Black Rabbit left in who was now Seifer Almasy, then he would need the cool reserve of Princess Quistis to slow that fire. And perhaps his look on life would bring the young woman some peace as well…

* * *

_He had mud on his face again, and his clothing, and the whole left side of his body as it happened, probably the result of some horse-riding trick gone wrong. She rolled her eyes as he kicked his boots off at the door and made for the stairs._

"_Excuse me, young man," She called, stopping his progress, "But where do you think you're going?"_

_He turned at her approach and swept a low bow, "I was on my way to my quarters in search of a bath, My Lady."_

_She raised an eyebrow, "Traipsing mud through the castle as you go?"_

_He had the humility enough to blush and clasped his hands behind his back. "My apologies, My Lady, I didn't intend on insulting your cleanliness."_

_There was a barb in there for her and she felt it. She was _not_ a cleanliness obsessed woman and this little urchin knew it. She narrowed her eyes at him. "I think you ought to take the servants' staircase, cut down their work load a little. And once you've had your bath you can come back here and fetch your boots to clean them yourself."_

_He was watching her talk without replying, unblinking green eyes boring into hers. He did that a lot, disarming people with his eyes. It was hard to decide whether or not he was doing it on purpose, so she chose to ignore it more often than not these days._

"_Is that understood, Lapin?"_

"_Yes, My Lady." Short and to the point. Said quickly with hardly a parting of his lips. Everything was measured with this boy, though he was barely 11 years old he was more controlled than many men twice his age. More controlled than even she, Queen Edea Kramer could even claim to be. Sometimes – if he was being particularly… evil – facial expressions themselves became a casualty of his demeanour. It was this way in Court sometimes, when reports were being given or advisors were stating their various opinions, but especially when a new court guest was introducing themselves, Lapin would sit there, expressionless and silent, staring at the speaker. When a new person began to speak he would turn to stare at them, but instead of simply flicking his eyes across he turned his whole head. It was – in a word – creepy._

"_Well go on then," She waved him off, "And don't be late to dinner, the King and I would like for you to dine with us tonight."_

_He nodded, swept another low bow, then disappeared off in the direction of the servants' private staircase. When he appeared at dinner his hair was still wet, he was wearing his freshly brushed boots and was looking slightly on the sleepy side. Hot baths did that to him. Still. Even after two years of the things he just couldn't cope with the comfort. It was perhaps the only cute thing about him. Edea and Cid exchanged glances and smiled._

_He took a seat and the meal was allowed to begin. He ate everything that was put in front of him, everything but the pile of swede that sat on the edge of the plate getting colder by the minute. He never ate the swede._

"_Lapin, tell us about what you did today." Cid said, picking up his goblet and taking a drink. He observed the young man over its rim._

"_Yes, Your Grace," Lapin said, putting down his cutlery and picking up his napkin, wiping his mouth with it before beginning to recount the day's events. "I woke early and took my breakfast in the kitchens before going out to practice my archery. I continued with this endeavour until 11 when I took an early lunch, over which I studied the histories you put to me-"_

"_And how did you find them?" Cid interrupted, wiping his mouth as well before picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of potato._

"_Interesting enough, although it raised some questions for me about the capabilities of those advisors appointed at the time. The Council of Elders is recorded to have ordered the creation of some being to protect their shores from the latent foes of the south, and yet this creation destroyed the Council of Elders themselves and then set about eradicating the North of all living things. Surely if the Council of Elders were knowledgeable and powerful enough to create this being then they would have been knowledgeable enough to realise what fate it would bring them."_

"_Are you implying they were stupid to create this being?" Cid asked, putting another bit of potato in his mouth. The ancient history of the world was always a source of fascination for him and Edea refused – after two years of pillow-talk revolving around the matter – to speak to him of it._

"_Not stupid per say, unwise perhaps if we think of them operating under the normal confines of the human being, but if we consider them to be above the vices of man then the possibilities for their impulses are indefinite. We could be viewing them in a purely metaphysical sense when in reality we should be talking of them in terms of having reached a higher form."_

"_A higher form?"_

"_Yes, Your Grace."_

"_As in the Socratic forms?"_

"_Yes, Your Grace."_

_Cid scratched his chin before stuffing a bit of carrot into his mouth. Now wasn't this an interesting thought. His love of the ancient history and especially the Trabian Kings and the Council of Elders originally came upon him as a young boy reading them as though they were a story. It was a fantastic tale of war, starvation, long winters, long summers, battles lost and won and through it all this overwhelming feeling that what was there wasn't enough. There had to be more to this tragedy of ancient times. It was a story he was living in after all and the answer to his unshakable feeling had to be somewhere. Perhaps Lapin had hit upon it at last?_

"_I understand your logic this far, but explain to me how the decline of the Trabian Kingdom and the decimation of the Council of Elders fits into the Good, the Right and the Beautiful."_

"_I have no idea." Lapin confessed. Cid stuffed a mushroom into his mouth. "The books you've given me tell us very little about the individuals themselves, only about the actions they took and how that impacted the fall of Trabia to the perpetual winter. If we had more information on the members of the Council of Elders then perhaps we could take a guess at what they intended to have happened when they made the being in the first place. If they were operating towards a higher form then we might be able to say they created the being with the intention of themselves being the first victims."_

"_As a gateway to the higher form…" Cid muttered, nodding slowly and reaching for his goblet. Edea rolled her eyes and continued to pick at a rabbit leg – by the looks of things they were in for the long haul tonight…_

"_If however they _were_ aiming towards a higher form, Your Grace, this would be a revelation that could re-write the history of philosophy as we know it." Lapin said, observing Cid's reactions carefully. It was well known that the prospect of change – particularly of anything deep-rooted or traditional – didn't sit well with the King. He got antsy and upset and worried and just generally uncomfortable about the whole affair. "We could say that the theory of the forms was not in fact invented by Socrates, but is the creation of the Council of Elders, much earlier than Socrates."_

_Cid was listening very carefully by now, not with an uninterested expression either. "It's possible," Lapin continued, "That the idea of the forms was one held by all of Trabia at the time. A Kingdom-wide consensus towards death that is the reason why the Kingdom has remained in perpetual winter ever since."_

"_Are you trying to say that the cultural glue of a long dead people is having effect over the weather?" Edea butt in sounding sceptical. This was going a bit too far for her liking and if there was any more of such radical talk she would get no sleep tonight, having her ear talked off by an over-excited king and his boyish obsession._

"_But, My Lady," Green, compelling eyes turned on her now, "There are records of beautiful summers and dusky autumns in Trabia. The cool Trabian summer is recorded to be like no summer anywhere else on Gaia, with beautiful plants that come to life and forests where children are born from the trees themselves, growing fruit on any wood with only a touch of their fingertips. Ice witches that drew the winter in to give the land time to rest, to sleep. There were never any records that said the land was dead and frozen, not until the fall of the Council of Elders and the coming of the Being. If it was not that which altered the weather, then what did?"_

"_I'm sure science has something to say about the matter."_

"_Yes, My Lady."_

"_Lapin," She paused, folding her hands in front of her on the table and fixing him with a look she _hoped_ he would understand was supposed to be intimidating. "Are you agreeing with me because you believe me to be correct? Or because I'm the Queen?" When he merely blinked at her she added, "That goes for the conversation you've just had with the King as well."_

"_Would either answer suffice?"_

"_Not really… no."_

"_Then why do you ask, My Lady?"_

"_I ask," She said, picking up her fork and beginning to poke at the rabbit leg, unable to meet his gaze now that both of her boys were staring at her with an air of one whose primary interest had recently been insulted, which she supposed it had. "Because you seem to be changing your mind based on what I just said. If you change your mind all the time, Lapin, politicians will not take you seriously." _Poor cover up, Edea…_ She chided herself and by the wrinkle in Lapin's nose he thought so too._

"_Well then," He began, fingers toying with the base of his goblet. "I'm agreeing with you because you're the queen and what you said probably has some truth. Science would probably have something to say about it whether their ultimate answer is correct or not."_

"_Would you ever speak out against me? If I was wrong?" She asked._

_His brows dipped down to a small frown. This question deserved some thought. The silence lasted for a few minutes, long enough for Cid to begin eating again, stuffing in potato after potato with obvious and noisy relish. Eventually Lapin looked up at Edea, the look on his face clearly said he had resigned himself to his answer, but that its consequences may well be rather unpleasant._

"_I would have no trouble in correcting you for factual fault, My Lady. If the fault is, however, moral, I don't think I would care; morals are merely a social construct designed to separate us as humans from the animals in the wild. I would support you until the end."_

* * *

She wondered if he would say the same thing now if she asked him again. At the time it had daunted her, frightened her even as the rest of his demeanour told her that he would follow through with his words. Perhaps the time had changed that as well. Maybe the Vaes culture which had sculpted him into the man he was now had rid him of that do-or-die attitude he had as a youngster. She hoped it had, for Quistis' sake at least. She had once seen him torturing a rabbit he had caught in a trap, holding onto the thing's back-feet while it struggled to get away. When it began to scream he killed it with a blow to the back of the head. That a child aged 9 had no trouble in torturing and killing a living creature where others his age would have squirmed and refused made her sure he was abnormal; he could be exceptionally cruel sometimes. She hoped he had been cured of that.

The morning of the wedding was overcast and cloudy; the light that entered her bedroom was dull and cast long, faint shadows over everything. Quistis, in comparison was quite cheerful; after all, today was the day that heralded her freedom. She was up early, readily anticipating the rest of the day and busily beautifying herself. Normally she wouldn't bother because she was undeniably pretty enough, but if she didn't make herself feel special today then she doubted anyone would. Besides, she needed something to combat the abomination that was the dress. It was sat in the corner of her room, all made up on a mannequin and ready to go with jewellery set out on a little stool beside it. She ignored it as she inspected her make-up in the mirror.

Last night had been such a shambles, Rinoa rushing about in a fluster picking out underwear and jewellery, discarding them on the floor and dragging more out to inspect and respectively discard. The seamstress had been up extremely late as well, sewing bits of ribbon and beads onto the hem of the dress and pearls around the neckline. The King had apparently been unaffected by the squabbling that had amounted from three very stressed females and had retired to bed rather early, leaving the three to get under each other's feet. There had been such a panic when it had become apparent that Quistis had no stockings to wear. The seamstress had just about thrown in the towel then, exclaiming that Quistis _had_ to wear stockings with the dress otherwise she would only be half dressed and therefore indecent and no princess on her watch had ever been called indecent on her wedding day.

Quistis thought she was leaning towards becoming the first because she was really not looking forward to wearing that dress. It was a bit of a relief that the day was overcast actually, if it was sunny then the temperature by midday would be such that the whole party would be sweating like pigs, her most of all. She turned to look at it. It really was ridiculous. Not ugly per say, just outdated, big and awkward looking, she'd be lucky if she managed to make it out of the room in that thing. Having a thought, she got up from her dressing table and went to where Vaes n' Taal was sat on her bedside table, sitting down on the bed and flipping the book open in her lap.

It was as she'd expected it to be, a Vaes wedding – _any_ Vaes wedding – included vigorous dancing. The book described a number of dances with partners and lines and clapping and circling around a fire, all sounding extremely mobile. The bride and groom would reputedly participate in every dance on the first day of celebration and were encouraged to dance a lot of the dances throughout the rest of the celebrations. She didn't even need to look at the dress to know that it would _not_ be suited to this sort of celebration. Galbadian weddings were rigid affairs, especially for the nobility; the majority of the day was spent in the church during the ceremony and the rest of the day was spent eating, although the ladies could eat very little due to the dress code being so tight. Boredom was solved on its own with conversation and – in times of great desperation – speeches. Not dancing though, the dresses wouldn't allow it.

She left the book on the bed and left her room. Caraway was in his dressing gown when she knocked on his door, but he let her in anyway, looking a little tense.

"Are you alright, Quistis?" He asked, ignoring Edea who was still tucked in the bed, but who seemed to be ignoring the two anyway. "Why are you not getting ready?"

"I've been doing some reading on the traditions of a Vaes wedding and-"

"But we're not having a Face wedding." Caraway cut her off, ushering her into the meagre light coming in from the window. "We're having the wedding up here, the Galbadian style."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Quistis said, hesitating a little as Caraway's expression darkened, "I don't think the Khal would like that and the traditional Vaes wedding has a lot of dancing-"

"But we never dance in weddings."

"No, I know that, but the Vaes wedding-"

"We aren't having a Face wedding. We're having a-"

"But I think-"

"Don't interrupt me!" Caraway bellowed, frightening Quistis a few steps back. "We're not having a Face wedding. We are not barbarians! We are royalty. We will do this the way we've always done and they should feel honoured to be a part of this!"

"But, Your Grace," Quistis continued doggedly on, overlooking her father's angered expression in favour of her own opinion, "I am not real royalty, you said so to the Khal yourself, but I'm going to be their Queen. It would instil better relations if-"

"We don't need better relations." Caraway snapped, fast losing his rag with this one, "They've already got one of my daughters, what more could the buggers want?!"

"A little respect here and there wouldn't go amiss…" Quistis muttered. Caraway scowled and Edea flinched as the back of his knuckles connected with Quistis' jaw. The girl yelped in pain and clapped a hand to her mouth, her fingers and Caraway's knuckles came away bloody. It was the first time Edea had ever seen Caraway strike one of his daughters. It was only a split lip, but the rage that flared up in Quistis' eyes was perfectly justified; her life had been nearly as miserable as Edea's and had lasted longer too.

Caraway shook his head sharply, "The day you speak to me of respect will be the day I lay down and die like a dog." He spat, teeth gritted, saliva spraying out between his lips. "The _only_ person here who deserves any respect is me. Not you. Not those savages. Me."

"You've done _nothing_ to deserve any respect!" Quistis shouted, making Edea jump. "All my life you've treated me like I'm a disgrace to this family! You've never-"

Caraway grabbed for her throat, his fingers closing like claws around her neck and slammed her back against the door. His face was screwed up in rage and had turned a deep shade of scarlet.

"Fury!" Edea gasped, scrambling out of the bed as Quistis spluttered. She grabbed for the King's arm, pulling as hard as she could but although the King was slowly becoming an old man, he was still stronger than her. He ignored her attempts to free Quistis as though they were water off a duck's back.

"You ungrateful WRETCH!" Caraway raged, "How DARE you say that to me?! ME! The King!" He shook his daughter, who choked, her nails scrabbling over the backs of his hands, digging them in, carving half-moons into his skin. "I have raised you since you were a child! An _infant_! Given you clothes! Food! Kept you warm! How DARE you speak to a King in that _ungrateful _manner?! You don't understand the meaning of the word _respect_!"

"Fury!" Edea shouted, pulling with all her might against the King's arm, "Let. Her. GO!"

He threw Quistis aside and she crashed into the door, collapsing on the floor and desperately swallowing down great mouthfuls of air. He threw Edea off too and pointed a finger at her, his face puce. "I told you not to call me by my first name, woman!"

"You were killing her!" Edea shouted back, fearfully clutching fistfuls of her skirts as Caraway turned to face her fully. Behind him Quistis still lay rasping on the floor, her fingers hovering about her neck which was apparently too tender to touch. "I panicked!"

"You had no right to interfere!" Caraway spat, taking a few steps towards Edea and away from Quistis. "It is up to me how I discipline my daughters, not a soiled witch! I could have you beheaded for this!"

"Be-…"

The room fell silent, all three occupants mulling over the events of the last minute and a half. By the door, Quistis got gingerly to her feet, not looking at either her father or Edea and opened the door. Her carefully arranged make-up was a mess, there was blood all over her chin from her lip and big red finger-shaped marks were blossoming on her throat, the skin swelling in immediate protest to the pressure. She opened the door and slipped out silently. Even if she had something more she wanted to say, she doubted her voice would work after having been crushed quite so spectacularly.

She made the trip back to her room undisturbed, for which she was most grateful. She leant against her bedroom door as her eyes prickled with tears, surprised they hadn't overflowed earlier, in the corridor or in his room. It wasn't as though what she had said was untrue, or particularly rude. He didn't have to hurt her like that… He was so violent; she wished he wasn't her father. She wished she didn't have to be here… She wished her Mum was still around. She would know what to do about him…

Tears tracked down her cheeks and she sucked down breath through her injured throat. It was burning, like she had a really really bad cold and the sensation of choking hadn't gone away yet. She scrubbed a hand over her cheeks, wiping at the tears furiously. A glance in the mirror confirmed that she was a mess, red, swollen neck, smears of make-up all over her face; the black coal she'd used on her eyes was now only to be found in smudged lines down her face, mingling with the blood drying on her chin. All that effort went to nothing.

There was a basin and a cloth on the windowsill and she grabbed it, still sobbing miserably. She scrubbed the make-up off her face roughly, but dabbed tenderly at her lip and neck. The cool cloth did help it a little, but not much. She tossed it back at the basin without looking and knocked it off the windowsill. The basin smashed on the floor, shards of ceramic scattering everywhere and water splattering all over the place. Cursing quietly Quistis bent to clear it up, she hated making extra work for the servants and it was her mess after all.

She was gathering as much of the broken ceramic as she could into the biggest surviving piece when a particularly sharp bit cut her finger. Blood now added to the mess on the floor. She stuck the injured finger in her mouth with a soft sob. The day was going terribly already and later she would have to stuff herself into that god awful abomination in the corner. She got up and scowled at the dress. The more she looked at it, the less she felt like wearing it, the more she felt like ripping it apart. She glanced at the broken ceramic on the floor, then dismissed the idea… Even if she didn't wear it herself, perhaps Rinoa could wear it on her wedding day…

But Quistis herself would not be wearing it, she decided when she was choking on her father's floor that today would be the last day he would have any control over her. But why did today have to be the last day? Why couldn't yesterday have been the last day? Today would be a wonderful day to throw off the oppression of her father's will, unshoulder the weight of tradition. Abandon her culture…

She turned from the dress on the bust and went to her wardrobe. The dress she had in mind was one of her mother's, it was only a summer dress, but it was white, long and the bust had been adjusted to fit her. While it may not have fit the specifications for a Galbadian wedding, she was sure it would be more than suitable in the eyes of the Vaes. The Vaes 'N Taal said nothing about the traditional garb of a Vaes bride so Quistis had nothing to go on, but she was sure modesty would be far greater appreciated than outlandishness – as would be appropriated by the original dress.

She was just tying the last sash about her ribs when a soft knock came on the door followed by Rinoa's voice. "Quisty? Are you awake?"

Quistis panicked for a second; what should she do? If Rinoa found she wasn't going to wear the dress she'd get in trouble. But she couldn't _lie_! She struggled with the sash and headed for the door, croaking, "Just a second, Rinoa!"

"Oh don't worry," Rinoa chirped, beginning to open the door anyway, "I'm a girl too."

"No!" Quistis squealed, leaping at the door and slamming it shut again, to Rinoa's surprise. "I err, I'm not really dressed yet!"

"It doesn't matter, I'd love to help you dress up." Rinoa replied, sounding a little forlorn on the other side of the door, as though not really understanding why she was being kept out.

Quistis licked her lips as she thought. He throat was still burning, but the strangling feeling had mostly died down by now. She still looked a mess. She was going to need Rinoa's help with this, never having bothered with make-up before she probably wasn't very good at it. Rinoa however put make-up on every day and had thus gained a hell of a lot of practice.

She opened the door, grabbed her sister and yanked her side, slamming the door and clapping a hand over her mouth before she could alert any guards with her squawks.

"Before I let you go," Quistis whispered into Rinoa's ear, "You have to promise you won't tell the King anything about this, even if he asks, ok?"

Rinoa nodded, wide-eyed. "And," Quistis continued, "You have to help me put my make-up on and do my hair without making any comments about what I'm doing."

Another nod. "And you have to promise me you'll help me get out of the palace without being stopped alright?"

The third nod. Quistis let go.

"What on earth are you doing?!" Rinoa cried, turning around on the spot and glaring at her sister.

"You promised-!"

"I thought you were a kidnapper or something!"

"Oh, Rinoa, you are illogical aren't you!"

"No, not really!" Rinoa folded her arms and stuck a hip out in her 'attitude' pose. "It's a perfectly possible thing to happen! We're royalty and can fetch a high bounty, thank you very much!"

"_Really_?!" Quistis stuck a hand on her hip and gestured the other one towards the window, "With an entire army of Horse Lords outside and a palace full of guards? You _really_ think someone would be stupid enough to try and kidnap me on my wedding day? And besides, you'd fetch more than me!"

"That's what I meant!" Rinoa replied as Quistis rolled her eyes and went to her dressing table and began rooting around in a jewellery box. "I thought they were coming to kidnap me!"

Quistis ignored her and held up a pair of earrings to her ears, admiring them with the dress, she put them back and picked up another pair. Rinoa eyed her up. "Why aren't you wearing your wedding dress?"

"I'm not going to be wearing that wedding dress."

"But that's a summer dress."

"Not anymore."

"Father will go crazy if you wear something different."

"I don't care what Father thinks. I'm through with him." She finally decided on a dangling pair of earrings with moonstones for gems. "Can you help me with my hair?"

"But it's traditional to wear the ball gown for a wedding…" Rinoa complained, picking up Quistis' hair brush and running it through her sister's hair. "I thought you would look really nice…"

"I can't wear that thing and dance at the same time."

"But we don't dance at weddings."

"I'm not having a normal wedding." Quistis said, clearly and deliberately, temper beginning to rise again as this conversation started following along the very same lines as the one she had with her father only minutes before. "I'm marrying a Khal of the Vaes; I should have a wedding like a Vaes woman. I don't care about Galbadia anymore, it's not done anything for me in all the years I've lived in it. You were always the centre of attention, always the one that people cared about, no one will care about it if I bend the rules. They've never paid any attention to me before, why should they now. I'm through with it, Rinoa. Complain all you like, but I'm not changing my mind."

Rinoa didn't say anything but continued brushing Quistis' hair. It was better not to complain, certainly not about the allegations against her; she wasn't an idiot, she could understand why it might look that way from Quistis' point of view. She pulled Quistis' hair into a loose bun, letting a few tendrils of soft golden hair curl around her neck and reached for the jewellery box, to find a suitable hair pin.

"What happened to your neck?"

"The King."

* * *

His lip curled involuntarily as he looked at her. Her arrival had caused quite the commotion in the camp and even he had to reign himself in to keep from gawking. She was beautiful, Hynedamned beautiful. The long white dress was blowing in the breeze, her hair was beautifully done with a moonstone coronet balanced on her brow. Her eyes were darkened with coal, her skin whitened with _something_ and her lips were painted deep red. She was like an angel. An angel with a swollen lip and purple marks on her throat. The cloak she had around her hid quite a lot of it, but they didn't hide everything. She had rejected his offer of medicinal herbs to bring down the swelling and now here was the evidence to show for his bad handling of her. He cursed his aggression and foul nature for having damaged such an elegant and stunning creature.

When she spoke it was with a much stronger voice than he'd heard her use before. Perhaps she was trying to be strong for today. "I will stay down here until the appointed time. I apologise in advance if I get under your feet."

"No trouble." Seifer grumbled, folding his arms. "However the only woman around here is Fuujin, so you had better stay beside me, her, or Raijin. To the rest of the men you're fair game until I marry you, understood?"

"Perfectly."

He considered her for a moment, then nodded towards her throat, "I didn't expect your neck to suffer so much."

She looked a little taken aback at that. "My neck?"

"The bruises, I didn't mean to hurt you that much."

"Oh no, you didn't. This is the handy work of the King." She said, pulling the edges of the cloak closer around her throat.

His revulsion with himself was swept away by the sweet feeling of relief; he would hate to think he was still the monster he used to be. But that sweetness lasted only as long as it took for him to affix his revulsion to the King. He held open his tent flap for the angel to sweep past him, leaving a trail of doe-eyed men and the scent of orange blossoms in her wake.

Seifer waved for Nida to come forward, letting the flap drop and speaking in the Tongue, "Find the relaxed plant for the Khalissi and heated water."

Nida pulled a face and Seifer rolled his eyes, "I know it's a woman's task but we have no women here. Just do it."

As Nida trudged off to do as he was bidden Seifer turned his attention back to the woman in his tent. What should he do with her until it was time for the wedding? Truth be told he was a little bit nervous about it, he was only going to get married once in his life and he didn't want today to be the day he metaphorically sold his soul to the devil, no matter how beautiful she turned out to be. Having her actually in the camp made it seem so much closer now, he couldn't ignore it, it was almost as though it had already happened… He suppressed a shudder – as any man nearing his day of judgement should – and entered his tent.

She was stood with her back to him just inside the door and didn't appear to move as he moved around her. He didn't know how he should approach her given his present feelings and her outward appearance. He tip toed around her as he gathered things around in his tent. He had in truth very little in there, much less than usual; he had already packed most of his things away into his chest and there was nothing left but his bed roll and a small table, on which sat his clothing and the Khalissi's wedding gift. He leapt on the idea like a starving rat.

"I have a gift for you." He said, going and picking the present; he'd had the dagger carefully wrapped and the handle repaired with weaves of hair from her horse's tail and his. It was supposed to keep her save, but looking at her now he wondered if a simple dagger was going to be enough, given the amount of damage she had sustained over the past few days.

She looked at the wrapped gift with a mixture of surprise and dread, taking it hesitantly. "I err, don't have a gift for you…"

"You don't have to find a gift," He said as she turned the gift over in one hand, "You are the gift. Or more specifically your body is the gift."

The colour drained from her face at the prospect and she refrained from looking at him. He cocked an eyebrow at that and let out a sigh; having spent so long in the company of so many young women who would spread their legs without a second thought for him, he'd forgotten that young _ladies_ didn't speak openly about such things.

Scratching the back of his head he went to find out where Nida was with those flowers. As it happened Nida was standing just outside the tent, attempting to juggle the things so he could open the tent flap and go inside.

"Dankie, Nida," Seifer muttered and took the stuff off him, turning away and letting the flap fall before Nida even had a chance to say anything. He went and put the things on the table, dumping the relaxed flower – or Lavender in the common tongue – in the hot water to steep.

"Come here and sit on the table." He said, prodding the flowers under the water. They only needed to be under for a little while, long enough to break up the chemicals in the flowers and release the 'bit' he wanted. The angel moved slowly to the table, as though suspicious. "These flowers will help you relax," He explained, already enjoying the smell himself, "When they're ready you'll have to hold them to your neck, it will help ease the swelling and the bruises may lose some of their colour."

"_May_ lose some colour?" She probed, watching what he was doing, "It doesn't sound as though you're sure."

"We don't know if it helps the colour go down because it normally takes a few days of having the Lavender on the skin before there's any change in the bruise."

"Oh…" The gift was still wrapped in her hand and he glanced at it feeling a little impatient, he wanted to know if she liked it or not, given it was something from the North and therefore quite rare. He was also curious about her other hand as that had yet to make an appearance today; perhaps it was injured?

"Is there something wrong with your right hand?" He asked, fishing the Lavender out of the water and giving it a shake to get rid of most of the water.

"Hmm? Oh, no…" She shook her head and produced her right hand, passing the book it held to her other hand so she could rotate the right one freely, showing off its good health. "Well, I cut my finger this morning but other than that there's nothing much wrong with it."

"What's that book?" He asked, holding out the Lavender, "Just hold it against the bruise."

"It's erm…" She looked at it as though contemplating an excuse, taking the Lavender and just holding it. "It's… A book… On… Erm…"

"You need to put the flowers on the bruise before they cool off." He reminded, picking her hand up and pressing it to her neck himself since she was preoccupied already. Her cheeks were colouring as she thought about the book and it spiked his interest. Was it a raunchy book she didn't want to tell him about? He smirked at the thought, "May I see it?"

She looked a bit reluctant and a tinsy bit embarrassed, but held the book out for him anyway. To his surprise, when he had a look it turned out to be a book professing to be the understanding of the Vaes people! Intrigued he leant back against the table to have a read, flipping through the first few introductory pages and coming upon the list of all the various Khalisaars and their leaders. He picked his own out easily, although they had been through two Khals since the time the book was written. In the book it called his Khalisaar the 'Leopard' and named Vuurweet as the Khal. Seifer chuckled as he looked through the rest of the old Khals, tracing over those he had known with a finger and skimming over those he hadn't. Granted he had only come to the Vaes when he was 11, but some of those old dogs were still around, grey in the beard and long in the face, watching their wayward sons leading their Khalisaars all over the land… Hyne, it brought back some good memories.

The next bit of the book was something of a let-down, it claimed to be listing all the foods known to the Vaes, but it missed out so many! For example, razor clams were a favourite of the Vaes children because they were so salty – a flavour not often enjoyed in a world of meat, grain and the occasional unseasonal fruit – but it wasn't listed in the book. It didn't mention puff-mushrooms, sand eels, cheese or garlic! It did however allude to the Vaes eating nettles, which they never included in dishes, nettles were a purely medicinal plant as far as the Vaes were concerned, it was far too bitter otherwise. He shook his head in disappointment at the mistakes and turned to the next bit, which was boring as it was all about travelling patterns. The bit that seemed the most read – that is to say it was the most worn and had a wooden bookmark in it – was the part concerning Vaes customs, particularly the bit about marriages. Really, the way it was writing about it made it sound as though she was marrying into a pack of wolves! Everybody carrying knives, guts being spilt, boars being skewered as entertainment for the guests…

"I hope you're not putting too much stock in what this book says." He said, looking up. Her big blue eyes blinked in surprise. "It's got nearly everything wrong."

"Really?" A hint of hope in her voice…

"Yes, really, like this part for example," He skimmed the pages for an example and began to read it out, "'The children of the Vaes learn from very early on what animals are to be killed – all predators are a potential threat to the horses and must therefore be eliminated very quickly. There are no pets in the Vaes because they're hard to look after while on the move…" He looked up at her, an amused smirk on his face. "This is bollocks-" She flinched "-Of course there are pets! We have dogs and cats just the same as anyone else only we leave them behind when we go walk-about. Some predators are necessary evils, like Big Cats for example, their fur makes really good saddles and the meat is good to feed the dogs with and to go on fishing lines. Not everything this book says is true."

"But what about the bit about marriages?" She asked, trying to turn the pages in his hands to the right bit "Isn't that wrong too?"

"Err, nope." He lied, pretending to skim read the first page, "Most of this is fine, the only bit it's wrong about is that the Khalissi is usually deflowered in front of the whole Tribe." He looked up and grinned at her mortified expression. "It left that part out."

* * *

The midday sun was high in the cloudless blue sky, turning the land hot and acrid. The hope for an overcast afternoon went unanswered and the Khalisaar gathered in a circle around a small fire, only the embers left burning. Quistis and the Khal stood on either side of the fire, her feet aching from the hours they had stood there, waiting for the fire to burn down. She had no idea how long it had been but it had been long enough for her father to begin to nod off on his chair, as angry as he apparently was. The Galbadian side of the celebrations were outside of the circle of Vaes, on a raised piece of land overlooking the site. There were several officials she didn't know, Ser Deling looking extremely annoyed, advisors, local gentry and the royal household along with a few hundred onlookers from the city who clearly weren't invited but there was nothing to stop them coming. All in all she didn't think she'd ever had this much attention in her life and so far all she'd done was stand in front of a fire for a good hour r however long it was…

Rinoa she could see looked extremely unhappy, perhaps about the king-sized hand mark on her cheek, and had taken to staring out across the countryside, perched on the edge of her seat that was furthest from the king. The King himself didn't look either happy or sad because he was sleeping. Probably a good thing otherwise they would all have to deal with his unpredictable behaviour.

Finally, after the fire had apparently burnt down enough, the Khal extended his hands for her to take and Raijin stepped up to the edge of the fire, a wicker basket in his hands.

"Join hands." He said quietly and Quistis reluctantly put her fingertips – only the tips – in the Khal's hands. It was time for the real ceremony to begin.

"Witness, please," Raijin spoke loudly in the common tongue, rousing the sleepy spectators to attention, "The joining of the House of Trepe and the House of Noir in the bond of marriage." The lid of the basket was removed and from it was taken a flat rope woven from what appeared to be horse hair, dyed in a bright array of colours. Raijin took this a wove it about their joined hands, pulling them together so that it was necessary for more than just their fingers to be touching.

"This rope represents the bond you will share through your culture, through your creed and through your hands. They will hold you up, keep you safe and they will never be broken by you."

The next item from the basket was a little knife, freshly sharpened and shined. It was pushed through their joined right hands before Quistis even had time to think about protesting. The pain was instantaneous and chilling but any whimper or cry of pain she might have made was swept away by the acid green of the Khal's eyes, willing her not to speak a word of discomfort and Raijin's voice which sounded deeply above her head.

"Bound by blade, blood and burning, though weapons may spill your blood, it will be caught by the hands of another. This knife represents the foes that will part your flesh and lay you bare."

The third and final item in the basket was a gold chain, the type that may once have held a sundial pendant, but that part of it was missing. The chain was wound around their left wrists and Raijin continued speaking.

"This chain represents the sun-" blood was beginning to drip from between their joined hands and was sizzling on the fire embers. Gradually the faint smell of cooking meat permeated the breezeless air. "- rising in the west and setting in the east. There is nothing on this world that can change time or escape it, together you must choose what you do with the time that is given to you, or lose your chance to do so."

The Khal nodded, so Quistis copied; she had begun to feel as though Raijin was speaking directly to them and not in fact to the hundreds upon hundreds of people he appeared to be shouting at. It was an unsavoury taste. Raijin then dropped the basket into the fire and said quietly to them. "That basket holds your evils, your sins and your past. Please watch it as it burns."

It was an impossible feeling to describe, watching the empty basket burn away, catch light and flare up, little drips of their combined blood spotting on it, dark red at first but blackening quickly in the heat. Did she have any past sins? Any evil? She didn't think she did, or at least she didn't like to think that she did… She risked a glance up at the Khal to see if his face held the same wonder that she felt. Rather embarrassing then to find that he wasn't watching the flames at all but was looking instead at her. Still with wonder, but no doubt about something completely different. Like why her cheeks looked so chubby when she looked down, or how on earth she'd ended up with a double chin…

She looked back down quickly only to find the basket disintegrated; the reeds it was made of curling up into little blackened husks before falling apart. She tentatively met the Khal's gaze as Raijin said, "Repeat these words; 'Until the Sun rises in the west and sets in the east…'"

Quistis and the Khal repeated in unison, "Until the Sun rises in the west and sets in the east…"

"'I am a creature of the Vaes…'"

"I am a creature of the Vaes…"

"'To abide by their laws until I am dead or worse…'"

"To abide by their laws until I am dead or worse…" She couldn't imagine what she could possibly become that would be worse than dead, she was marrying with her virtue intact and no prior scandals to her name, what worse was there?

"'I will fight for my country…'"

"I will fight for my country…"

"'I will live for my Khal…'"

"I will live for my Khal…"

"I will live for my Khalissi…"

"'I will love no other people, excuse no other people…'"

"I will love no other people, excuse no other people…"

"'I will let no man or beast harm my Khal…'"

"I will let no man or beast harm my Khal…"

"I will let no man or beast harm my Khalissi…"

"'And I will love no other man or beast until they are dead, or worse.'"

"And I will love no other man or beast until they are dead, or worse." Again, the concept of loving a beast was foreign to her, as she supposed it ought to be to anyone. How could anyone ever learn to love a beast?

"'I will never forgive those who harm him…'"

"I will never forgive those who harm him…"

"I will never forgive those who harm her…"

"'I will never forget what I will never forgive.'"

"I will never forget what I will never forgive."

"'This I vow until the red dawn rises in the west and sets in the east…'"

"This I vow until the red dawn rises in the west and sets in the east…"

"'And all time is frozen in its wake.'"

"And all time is frozen in its wake."

"Pass three times around the fire and once back again." Raijin instructed, though the Khal obviously knew how these things were done because he had begun to walk already, never taking his eyes from hers, barely blinking. Once the last circle had been completed Raijin began to free their hands, carefully untying everything where Quistis would have simply cut it off with something, the knife perhaps. When the blade was drawn from their hands their blood bubbled from the wounds, streaming over their knuckles and sizzling in the fire.

The only thing that was left now was the kiss and she wondered if that was part of the marital ceremony in their culture. It certainly would have been in the Galbadian culture, perhaps the only moment of romanticism in the entire ceremony, but it wasn't a bit she looked forward to. To seal it with a kiss seemed almost unnecessary next to all the other seals they seemed to have made over the last however many minutes, but he was leaning down anyway. Resigning herself to her fate seemed to be the order of the day so she tipped her chin up and leant in. But that was it, she took great pains to make sure her lips did nothing, no movement, no silky glide, not even a twitch, after all, just because she was married to the guy now didn't mean he could walk all over her, did it?

* * *

**_A/N_**: Urgh, was that an awkward ending or what? At least, I felt awkward writing it... The next chapter will be almost exclusively the celebration that follows and maybe we'll get to meet some other characters, Cid perhaps, Laguna! Yeah... I'll have fun writing those bits heheheh...

So anyway, please tell me what you thought about this chapter, what was your favourite part, which part was the sucky part etc. No decisions to be made this time unfortunately, but - depending where the next chapter takes us up to - there may be some decisions to be made next time!

Stay tuned!

-Iets


End file.
